


Through Time and Space

by blynnk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Barebacking, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Doppelganger, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Parallel Universes, Post-Endgame, Power Dynamics, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rimming, Rough Sex, Seduction, Time Travel, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 16:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blynnk/pseuds/blynnk
Summary: Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes volunteer for a low-priority Avengers mission, involving traveling through time to a remote location in 1989, Canada. When absolutely nothing goes as planned, the fallout will change all of their lives, forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to redirect how things were left at the end of Endgame so that Clint and Bucky have a happy ending and more closure. The goal was not to dwell on where they'd been, but to help them move forward to something new and better. Clint and Bucky have the primary relationship here, and are exclusive, but things get... complicated (see tags). This is a romance-centric story, not a mission- or violence-centric story.

_March 6, 2019, 3:43 PM EST, Avengers Compound_

“Uh, guys? These readings… There’s something coming through.” Scott Lang’s eyes were huge, his face suddenly pale as he stared at the readouts on the large holo-screen in front of him. The massive quantum-travel machine beside them that filled most of the room began to hum, the large panels overhead flexing as it charged up, energy crackling audibly in the air around them at an increasing rate.

Tony Stark slid closer to Scott and frowned at the holo, reaching up to sort through the data feeding past, saying with too much confidence, “Nope, not possible. It hasn’t even been tested.” 

The snapping and crackling was now ear-splittingly loud and others came running, going for their weapons automatically.

“What’s happening?” Steve Rogers chimed in as he slowed his swift sprint to stop, glancing between them. He’d come from the direction of the training facility, which was on the same level as the lab. “Tony?”

Right behind Steve was Natasha Romanoff. “What is this?” she called over the roar, stopping well short of the machine’s test-field radius but with her hand gripping the gun hanging at her side, her thumb on the safety.

“Uh…” Scott took a backward step as the center of the test-field began to glow.

Tony tapped the tiny screen strapped to his wrist. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., sound the alarm. We’ve got incoming. Ground-floor lab A.”

A siren began to blare, lights flashing in warning. Bruce came running from the next room where he’d been running test scenarios on a separate 3D holo pad, his eyes wild.

In the as-yet-unused test-field of Scott and Tony’s highly experimental, quantum time-travel project, space folded in on itself to reveal two humanoid figures in matching white, gray and red suits, the reflective faceplates on their helmets gleaming. Several guns were instantly leveled at the new targets.

Everyone was too stunned to speak, except the new arrivals.

Slightly left of center, the man retracted his face shield and exhaled a hollow, leaden, “No.” Panic skyrocketed in his voice, going directly from zero to a hundred. His face was a sickly hue, verging on gray. “No, no, no. It’s wrong.”

The other new arrival, slightly right of center, was at first silent, his steady gaze trained solely on the weapons pointed their way and the looks of confused aggression on the faces of those arranged around them. Moving instinctively, he put the other man directly behind him, then crouched slightly in a strong stance with his arms raised in a defensive posture.

“What did we do…” the first said in breathless horror.

“Stay where you are,” Tony ordered. “That goes for everybody. And you two.” He gestured with the glowing, armored-plated glove he now wore, its built-in weapons pointed at the uniformed figures on the test-field. “Identify yourselves.”

“Tony, we know who they are,” Steve started.

“No, we don’t.” The weapon on Tony’s hand charged with a quiet but shrill sound. “That’s not them.”

“Shapeshifters?” Natasha asked. “Is Loki accounted for?”

“Thought so.”

“Tony, they came through the machine,” Scott interjected, still scanning the data as it poured over his screens.

As if to confirm this, the second man finally spoke, his soft but gruffly demanding, “What year is this?”

“Two thousand nineteen,” Steve answered, as if the question was perfectly normal.

Quietly—though they all heard him anyway in the tense silence—the first man groaned as if in denial, “They’re all dead. They should be dead. Why aren’t they…”

“We need to take them into custody,” Natasha asserted, taking charge.

“Yeah, that didn’t go so well last time,” Tony replied, then repeated. “Identify yourselves!”

“They’re unarmed,” Bruce said.

“No, _he_ literally is.”

The panicked pair shifted even closer together. The first laid a hand on the other’s arm, leaned in to speak against his ear, his eyes red and wet. “One way trip,” he groaned. “ _One way_. What do we do?”

The second reached for the hand of the first, weaving their fingers together. Somehow, the room got even quieter. No one moved. Everyone stared at the linked hands. 

The silent figure tapped a button to retract his face shield.

“Bucky Barnes.”

He turned toward his companion, gently brushed the side of his face, then touched their foreheads together.

With heavy resignation, the first said, “Clint Barton.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have to confirm that,” Tony told them.

After whispering into her com, Natasha gave him a small nod.

“Any objections?” he continued.

“Bucky—” Steve said softly. 

Clint stared hard at Natasha. “Whatever you want, Tony,” he said.

“Fantastic. This way please.” He gestured with his armored glove to the hallway that led to the Avenger Compound’s array of holding cells. Slowly, they moved away from the gargantuan machine. Clint and Bucky’s hands stayed linked. Everyone kept staring at it. 

No one spoke until they reached a pair of open cells, some armed staff security waiting at the doors.

“He stays with me,” Bucky said to no one in particular.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Buck, it’s okay,” Clint whispered. “Just do what they want.”

“He stays,” Bucky said with dripping venom, “with me.”

“Come on,” one of the guards said, grabbing Clint by the arm. Another had his gun pointed at Clint’s head.

It happened fast—a fraction of a second. One moment passed and the guard who’d touched Clint now had a bloody nose and the other’s gun was flying down the hall.

Bucky had raised his hands again in surrender, but an energy blast from Tony’s fist hit him at point-blank range in the chest.

“No!” Clint caught Bucky as he was knocked backward. “Tony, stop! We’re on your side! I think.”

Before anything else could happen, he dragged Bucky a few feet backward into one of the cells and slammed the door closed behind them.

“Can that even hold him?” Natasha asked.

Steve frowned with concern through the window as Bucky winced in pain, curled on the floor, a hole burned in his suit. Clint pushed Bucky’s hair back from his face and took his hand, kneeling beside him. “What is this…” 

“It’ll have to for now. Post guards. Lots of them.” Tony tapped his com. “Get Rhodey down here to help.”

*

“The scans all line up,” Bruce said. “Facial recognition, retinal scan, DNA, bloodwork, fingerprints. The whole shebang. It’s them.”

“But it’s not.” Tony had his arms folded tightly over his chest. “T’Challa confirmed Barnes is still in stasis there. Barton is off-world with the Guardians. We’re trying to arrange for him to get on a call with us.” He nodded to the surveillance feed. “Nat. Steve. Any thoughts on this?”

Clint and Bucky were seated on the cell’s bunk, embracing in a tight hug, Clint’s face buried against Bucky’s neck, with Bucky’s long hair hanging down to obscure his face. Bucky kept staring up at the camera, protectiveness for Clint radiating from him like fire.

Natasha and Steve exchanged a glance. “There’s no history there, if that’s what you mean,” Steve offered.

“You’re sure?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Natasha nodded.

“They seem… off. Different. Bucky’s been through more than anyone I know, but this is something else completely. When they saw us, they seemed…”

“Upset,” Tony provided. 

“To say the least. I’ve never seen Clint like that,” Natasha added. On the screen, the fingers of Clint’s hand wove through Bucky’s dark hair. Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of Clint’s head.

“I thought he was… you know. Straight. Married.” 

“Well,” she sighed. “More or less.”

*

In the cell, it was quiet. Sterile. The unblinking eye of the camera trained on them. 

They spoke in whispers.

“Did we affect the timeline somehow?” Clint asked. “We didn’t interact with anyone. We were isolated.”

“Or so we thought,” Bucky sighed. “Maybe the device malfunctioned, and just sent us back to the wrong place. We don’t know how that thing works. Never have. Anything could have happened.”

“Does this mean our timeline got wiped out somehow?” 

“I don’t know. Not that we’d know how to get there anyway.” He lifted Clint’s face with a hand wrapping his jaw. “I’m sorry. I know you never wanted to lose them again.”

Eyes closed, Clint just replied darkly, “No, I made my choice. Every step of the way.”

“We both did.”

“I can’t believe it. It’s so weird to see them again. Steve. Nat. …Tony.”

“It’s not them. Not really.”

“How do we know? We’re not scientists. Maybe this is our timeline, and something changed it. We weren’t the only ones out on a mission.”

“We were supposed to return thirty seconds after we left.”

“We left over a year ago.”

“Doesn’t matter. It was programmed to send us back to that point in time. I understood that much. It shouldn’t matter that we stayed.”

“Maybe it did,” Bucky guessed.

“Do you think Thanos is still gonna happen here?”

“It’s the same year it was when we left. Thanos should be old news. Maybe they’re in the clear.”

“And the Accords? Why is Steve here?”

“I don’t know.”

“They had the machine, from what I could tell, or close enough to make no difference. It looked kind of like the first one Tony built before our initial trip to get the stones. The one that was destroyed. But if Thanos never happened… and Steve never had to return the stones…” 

Bucky groaned, hunched forward but watchful. He kept staring at the camera. “We need to talk to them. We need to tell them.”

“Can’t that have negative effects on the future?”

“It’s a different future. I don’t think it matters at this point.”

“I hate time travel.”

Clint’s hand rested on the center of Bucky’s chest. There was a burn there, but it would heal. It wasn’t severe. The suit had mostly spared him.

“Thank you for… you know.”

“No one separates us. No one.”

“Even Steve?”

“He’s not my Steve. And that’s not your Nat.”

They fell into an uneasy quiet. “We should have stayed lost.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Too late now.”

Clint followed Bucky’s stare which was throwing daggers at the camera fixed to the corner of the ceiling. “They’re watching us.” 

“Let them.” 

“I thought you liked your privacy.”

His thumb dragged against the side of Clint’s cheek. His lips touched his forehead. “I’m too old to care about that anymore.”

*

ONE YEAR AND ONE MONTH EARLIER  
_March 6, 2019, 3:42 PM EST, Avengers Compound_

Scott carefully handed Bucky the device. It was about one foot long and bullet-shaped, with only a few buttons on the end.

Hulk adjusted the glasses perched on his nose and explained, “Just find a good spot and deploy it into the ground. It’ll do the rest. And like we said in the briefing, there’ll be an abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D. safe-house right there if you have any trouble. Should be stocked up with supplies of all kinds.”

“They’re only going to be gone for a minute or so,” Scott pointed out. “What kind of trouble could there be?”

“Eh, you never know,” Hulk shrugged.

Bucky looked over at Clint, who fidgeted with his white, gray and red uniform. “Not too late to change your mind.”

“Nah, I’m good. Let’s do this.”

“I’m serious. You’ve got a family to take care of.”

“I said I’m good.”

There was a little Stark logo on the sleeve of the uniforms. Every time Clint saw it, it made him sad. The kind of sad that came from way, way down deep and left an ever-expanding void. But then again, there was little those days that didn’t make him feel that way.

“Let’s do this,” Clint said with forced enthusiasm. Bucky looked at him with intense doubt but held his tongue. 

They went through the instructions for the sixtieth time, and then made the jump. Scott and Hulk did all the work, really. Clint and Bucky were just along for the ride.

Everything turned inside out. Most of it was a psychedelic haze of the worst kind. Clint was spat out on a field of grass, instantly retching and moaning in pain.

“God, I forgot how much that part sucks,” he complained.

“We’re here,” Bucky told him, looking around and admirably not puking his guts out. “You okay?”

“Great. I’m just great.”

He climbed to his feet, and tried to will his stomach to fall back down out of his throat and into place again.

Bucky walked to a place near a clump of trees, nowhere near a road or any sign that man had ever been there, where the ground created a shallow divot. He set the device down and pressed the button to deploy. 

With a crack, it shot down into the earth, a small plume of steam rising and loose soil filling in the hole after its descent. 

“Well, I think that’s it.”

They’d been told the device would help feed them data to better understand the timeline disparities they’d encountered in their travels. They could try to get readings through time, and in person once they came to retrieve the device in their own year. Right now, they were exactly thirty years in the past, someplace in northern Canada. Just a small jump, but the space it created between where they’d been helped Clint feel like he could breathe again. In this point in time, Thanos hadn’t happened. Their friends hadn’t yet died. Everything hadn’t gone wrong. It was like a fresh start.

“Ready to go back?” Bucky asked.

“Actually,” Clint admitted. “I’m not in a rush.” He glanced over at a big log cabin, a few hundred yards away. “And there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Bucky shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“Wanna take a look?” Clint asked, nodding toward the cabin.

“Sure. Maybe the supplies Hulk mentioned include beer.”

“We can only hope.”

*

There was beer. And it was cold. They clinked their chilled bottles together and toasted whoever was paying the electric bill in a deserted safe house. 

There was a nice breeze across the front porch, and comfortable chairs in the shady area out of the sun. The wild, unkempt meadow rolled away in a blanket of green dotted with white and yellow wildflowers, edged with a forest thick with towering trees. There was no sign of other people as far as they could see. 

“Where are we, exactly?” Clint asked, sipping his beer.

“No idea. I wasn’t paying attention when they showed us on the map.”

“Me either. Oh well.” 

“So,” Bucky started, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, both hands wrapping his beer—one metal and one flesh. The metal hand was all you could see peeking out from the cuff of his uniform. Clint always found it spooky to think that his arm was as strong as Steve’s shield. He was glad he wasn’t the one trusted with such a thing. Then again, he couldn’t imagine most of what Bucky had lived through.

That was kind of the whole point.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, you know,” Clint grinned. “The weather. Sports. Normal stuff.”

Bucky just waited and watched him. He was good at that, Clint had grown to realize—observation. Quietly taking it all in and digesting it before ever giving anything back. It made him hard to read, mysterious. Clint had no idea how much of that was naturally Bucky and how much HYDRA’s brainwashing and conditioning. 

“I’ve got time.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you do,” Clint murmured under his breath, squinting into the sunlight. The weather was unseasonably warm, causing the uniform to cling to his skin as he got overheated, though Tony seemed to have incorporated some temperature-regulation features. His stomach was in knots. His skin under the suit was breaking out in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with the weather or the suit. “I guess that’s why I volunteered. Actually, scratch that. I know it’s why I volunteered to do this mission with you.” 

“Time?”  
  
“And space.” He smiled and gestured widely to the field in front of them.

It took him a solid few minutes before more words spilled out. They didn’t want to come. “I knew the only way I’d ever manage to say this stuff to you was if I was forced to by isolation. Here, there’s no distractions. No one waiting on me. Nothing to do and nowhere to go. Everyone back home, they’re waiting right where we left them. We’ll return at three-forty-three and fifty-eight seconds, on March sixth, two thousand nineteen, no matter when we actually leave to get there. No…” he corrected, looking down at his hands with a frown. “If. Not when.” He let out a heavy exhale. “If the past five years have taught me anything, it’s the pleasure in getting the fuck away from it all.”

“You have a family,” Bucky said, stating the obvious though Clint didn’t detect any judgment in his tone.

“Yeah,” Clint grumbled with a slight, false, crooked smile.

Bucky frowned, edging forward on his seat a little more, staring hard at him.

“You got them back.”

“I did. What did _they_ get back? Hmm? What did they come home to? Not who—what. What the fuck am I, Bucky? What kind of monster—” he cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head and a deep drink of his beer.

Bucky waited.

“I can’t do it,” Clint confessed, so quietly. It turned his stomach to hear the cowardice and defeat in his own voice. “I give up. I can’t look my kids in the eye after… everything. The things I’ve done. I can’t take any of those years back. They happened. Not to them, but to me. I mean, thank god,” he laughed bitterly. “But no. They’re better off without.”

Bucky pressed his lips together, gazing out at the field as he said in understanding, “Without you.”

He blew out a breath and sat back, taking in the view.

“I see.”

“Who else can I ask about this? Who else knows how this feels? Losing Nat… Losing Steve… Doing things you can’t pretend to explain or justify… These days, there’s nothing but holes inside me. Empty places where the good parts should be. My family can’t fill those. It’s beyond them. And it shouldn’t be their job. They shouldn’t have to be afraid of what I might do and I don’t know how to turn back into the family man. The husband and normal father.” He cleared his throat, feeling strangled by all the guilt, grief, and shame. “So, yeah. I need help. I need your help. I have no idea what that looks like or means, but… I’m hoping you can help me see how to survive this. Help me understand how you’ve done it.”

“Why do you think I have anything figured out?” Bucky laughed sardonically.

“Because you do! I’ve seen it! I’ve seen what you were and I see what you are now.”

“Hmm.” He nodded, tongue in his cheek, not looking anywhere near Clint, emitting a low, simmering kind of anger.

“Hey. It’s you or nothing. I’m not going back until I feel more right in the head.”

Bucky did look at him then. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Clint assured him.

“Goddamn it, Clint,” Bucky sighed.

They sat in silence and drank for a while. The sun climbed lower on the horizon.

“And the rest?” Bucky asked, after nearly an hour.

“The rest?”

“Yeah. I’m waiting.”

“The rest of what?” 

“Why me?”

“I told you why.”

“No, you didn’t. No matter what you think I’ve been through, I’m no one’s counselor. I’m not your buddy. We’ve never sat and talked about our feelings before. I want the real reason.”

“That is the real reason.”

“Hey,” Bucky gestured with his empty bottle at the sinking sun. “All the time in the world, right? Nowhere to go. No distractions.”

Clint stood, averting his gaze. “Another beer?”

“Sure.”

Clint went inside, feeling lighter as soon as he could no longer feel Bucky’s stare weighing on him. He made it to the fridge, but then wound up standing there, a beer in each hand, unable to walk back outside. He stared off into space, wishing for a more complete escape, a more total isolation. Last time he felt this way he’d had to go all the way around to the other side of the globe. This time, he’d gone through time and space and it still wasn’t enough.

“Well?” Bucky asked in a soft rasp from the shadows. 

It was dark in there, but the brightness of the uniforms allowed him to see the outline of Bucky’s form—the soft curtain of his long hair, the wide expanse of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms, his lean waist, the slight curve of his hip. He was a supersoldier, built for war.

“I think I’d prefer not to die of embarrassment, if it’s all the same to you,” Clint replied. “What little pride I have left is basically beaten to a pulp.”

But Bucky didn’t move. He waited.

“God, I hate this,” Clint breathed in wonder.

He felt his face turn red, and thanked god for the dark.

“Just say it.” 

“I’m trying. This is me trying.”

Bucky walked closer, leaning back against the counter’s edge near where Clint stood frozen to the spot. He crossed his arms and gazed down at the floor, but he was inches away. Too close. Awkwardly close. It felt like a dare. A physical challenge to determine just how much of a coward he really was. Clint could smell his aftershave. Something vintage and tough, if a fragrance could be described that way. The presence of it in his nose made him want to bury his face against Bucky’s skin and search for the real scent of him, beneath everything else.

“So, I have an open marriage,” he started, feeling like he was going to vomit again. The bottles in his hands began to tremble, so he set them down and folded his arms. “No one knows. Not even Nat. But I…” he groaned, but let the words fall free, though they were much quieter. “Sometimes I need to be with a guy. I need things my wife can’t give me. She’s okay with it. But we have rules. Biggest one is that it can only be casual hook-ups.” He felt Bucky watching him again, and turned to face a different direction. “And I know we haven’t been friends or close at all. I’ve stayed away from you. Intentionally. Because you were… not mine and… when it comes to you, it’s not a casual…”

He couldn’t finish the thought. His throat closed up. He ran a hand through his hair.

The quiet, freshly revealed secrets swirled around him and pressed down. He felt the old instinct to get somewhere high, to reach for his bow, to focus on a target in order to get out of his own head for a while.

More erupted before he could hold it back, “Anyway, obviously I would never presume to think…” He cleared his throat and wiped a hand over his mouth. “I’m sure as hell no Steve Rogers. But maybe this helps explain why…”

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Bucky turn to face him directly, still leaning against the counter but this time on his side. Clint felt more like prey than he’d ever experienced before, and he was rethinking his whole scheme. His best hope was that Bucky would travel back on his own from the excruciating awkwardness of it all and Clint could be left alone with his misery.

His breathing was too loud. He felt like he was coming out of his skin. He’d been shifting around restlessly, but moved to walk completely away. 

A hand grabbed his arm.

The touch was electric and he startled but one good yank proved he sure as hell couldn’t pull free from a supersoldier’s grip. He really hadn’t thought this through.

Bucky let him go after a long moment, as if just seeking to prove there was no escaping without his say-so.

“So, question,” Bucky began. “Did you not tell your wife you were going on this mission?”

“No, she knows. She knows I’ve been coming apart, and needed space. She said she trusts me and that she’d handle things for a while.”

“You’re only supposed to be gone thirty seconds.”

“Yeah, well. I intended for it to feel longer than that. Or be longer. For me at least.”

“She knows you were going with me?”

“Yeah.”

“And she knows about…”

“…Yeah.”

“Doesn’t that break a rule?”

A squirmy, tickly feeling swept upwards from his balls, along his spine through his gut and outward to overwhelm his whole body. “How did I get into this conversation,” he murmured to himself. Louder, he said, “No. No, it doesn’t.”

“Why?”

“Fuck. Because she gave me permission, okay? She said to do whatever I needed in order to get right. Can we stop talking about it? Go ahead and laugh or whatever. Now you know I have a weird soft spot for you, which clouds my better judgment. Plus, you’re one of the few people I trust that I have left, that knows what I went through, and what it’s like. I came into this for coping mechanisms, not to tell you any of this.” 

“Too late.”

“Damn right.”

“Look at me.”

“Nope.” 

“Clint.”

“Nope. The floor’s gonna open up and the earth is gonna swallow me whole any minute now.”

It sounded like pity in Bucky’s voice. Clint imagined how pathetic he must seem. He was never, ever going to live this down. He’d have to avoid Bucky forever, and there were precious few Avengers left so that was going to be hard to manage.

“Why do you think Steve and I had a… romantic… relationship?”

Okay, that got Clint to turn and look. But Bucky’s face was inscrutable. 

“Oh, come on.” 

“Does everyone really think that?”

Clint gave him a you’ve-gotta-be-shitting-me look. “Look, I was honest with _you_.”

Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. It was ages ago, before he got the serum. After… things got complicated really fast. We were barely together. With the war… And then… Yeah, I love the guy. He wanted things to be different than they were, but _he_ was too different. It didn’t work. Why do you think he left? You think he would have left and chosen Peggy if he was happy?”

“I didn’t… think about that part of it.”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, pre-serum? Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t he…”

“Scrawny? A mess? Sure. He was my type. He needed me. I protected him. And then he didn’t need protecting anymore.”

Clint bit his lip and nodded. The lull in conversation dragged out too much and Bucky was still staring. 

“Great. So, I guess we’re done here. Good talk. Let’s forget this ever happened, and—”

“Clint.”

He sighed and let his head fall back on his shoulders.

Bucky stood up straight. Clint’s heart started pounding in his chest. His feet itched to run but his body refused to move. Bucky stepped across the gap between them, planting himself right in Clint’s personal space. Clint bowed his head, turning it to the side, closing his eyes. He couldn’t catch his breath. 

“I thought you were married,” Bucky said, his voice incredibly soft, since he was so close. 

“I am married.”

“I thought you were off-limits,” Bucky corrected.

“You don’t have to do this,” Clint said desperately, not wanting whatever pity Bucky was trying to throw his way to stroke his ego.

“Everyone always made fun of us as the old guys. And yeah, we’re from another time. But things were different then.” He took a breath. Clint felt the back of Bucky’s hand brush down the side of his arm, and flinched in shock. Then it became more of an out-of-body experience, like he was watching it happen instead of living it. “Sometimes to blow off steam, Steve and I would talk about who we’d want to be our third.” 

“Fucking stop,” Clint begged, with all sincerity. “It’s not funny.”

“He’d always rag on me for saying you. He’d say, ‘typical,’ and shake his head. Look at me.”

“Not for a million dollars.”

“Can you blame me? My circle’s been pretty damn small. You’re the only one without powers. You’re _normal_. You’re someone with a good heart who cares too much, who’s damn good at what he does and refuses to sit by and watch things go to hell without trying to do something about it. You’re not a supersoldier. You’re a man. You’re a mess. And sometimes… you need protecting.”

Clint’s chest was burning. A cold metal finger brushed a tear from his cheek.

His breathing was out of control. His heart was in his throat. He started to feel dizzy.

“You’re not scrawny though. I don’t hate those sleeveless things you always wear. Or the mohawk. Or the ink.”

Distantly, Clint knew he was trying to lighten the mood. To reach him somehow. But it had gone way past his point of tolerance and he had no way to get it back together.

Bucky wrapped his human arm around Clint’s back, then his metal one, and gently drew him in. Then he was flush against Bucky’s body, his chin tucked over his shoulder, and inhumanly strong arms held him there. One was across the back of his shoulders. The other hand—the metal one—rested lightly against his lower back. The most surreal part, though, was that he could feel the softness of Bucky’s hair against his skin.

Clint was gasping, starting to hyperventilate. “Breathe,” Bucky murmured almost too softly to hear, rubbing small circles on Clint’s back.

It was just a hug. Some kindness. A compassionate gesture. No big deal.

Grabbing hold of him, Clint let himself be a mess. He thought of Tony. He thought of Steve. He thought of Natasha falling from his grasp and of five years of torment. He thought of how much it hurt to look at his kids, knowing he’d become a murderer. And he sobbed. He sobbed for a long time, his chest heaving, his body squeezing out all of the pain. There was so much of it that had been buried.

But it wasn’t a gesture, and Bucky didn’t let go before Clint was ready.

The whole time, until it was full dark outside, they stood there, with Bucky holding him, saying soothing things against the shell of Clint’s ear, and rubbing small circles on his back.

*

Clint had stripped the suit off to his waist. He had an undershirt on beneath it. The suit, cinched at the middle, hung down around his legs as he leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on his face. Bucky leaned in the doorway to his left. It was still near-impossible for Clint to look directly at him.

There were multiple bedrooms. Clothes. Lamps. Beds. A working bathroom. Food. Toiletries. Linens. Tools. Hunting and fishing supplies. There were even stockpiles of condoms and lube. S.H.I.E.L.D. really had liked to be prepared for anything.

“You don’t have to stay,” Clint pleaded.

“Mm.”

He splashed his face again, pressing the water against his skin.

“So… question.”

Clint grabbed the sides of the sink to literally brace himself, head hanging.

“When you’d have these casual hook-ups, what did you like?”

“Seriously?”

Bucky waited.

Clint rolled his eyes.

“You can’t just ask me that.”

“Well, I just did.”

He passed Clint a towel, which he used, trying to suffocate himself against it. Bucky eventually pulled it away from his mouth.

“Dark and handsome.” 

“Not tall?”

“Not tall. It was easier to be the bigger one.”

“The top?”

He bit his lip and shook his head in disbelief at the whole turn his life had taken. “Yeah.”

“‘Easier’,” he echoed.

“Yeah.”

He could hear the smile in his voice, “You know where this is going, right?”

“Yeah,” Clint replied with even more despair. 

Bucky was a top. And Clint had no desire to be anything but his bottom. They both knew it.

Bucky shifted in the doorway, leaning at a different angle. “Have you? Ever?”

“Once. I was… what? Eighteen?”

Bucky laughed a little.

“Well, this’ll be fun,” Bucky grinned, the lascivious implications in his tone having powerful effects on Clint’s body. “You’re beet red, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

The smart-ass, dirty tone continued when Bucky said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” then bit at the side of his lower lip as he looked Clint over.

He had to shift the track of the conversation. Or he’d die.

“Are you really staying? Because I’m exhausted and those beds look nice.”

“I’m staying.” He shifted to let Clint pass. Clint was careful to avoid any more bodily contact. He headed toward the closest bedroom. “Get some sleep. I’ll stand watch.”

“It’s a safe house." 

“Yeah, we’ll see.” 

*


	2. Chapter 2

_2019, Avengers Compound_

Tony sat at the bank of monitors, hand to his face, leaned sideways in the seat with his leg crossed over his knee, which bounced restlessly. He tapped the recording from an hour ago to call it up, saw Barnes and Barton lying on the cot. Barton was lying on his side, facing Barnes’s chest, who was propped up on his vibranium arm—a different design than what he had in their world. Barnes stared at the camera, his human arm holding Barton against him. 

Tony closed it and tapped the live feed.

Barton was seated at a table in the cell, eating food from one of the two trays that had been delivered. Barnes was pacing, watching the window and door.

 _‘Eat,’_ Barton told him. _‘You’ve gotta eat something. It’s been hours.’_

_‘I’m fine,’_ Barnes countered, frowning, fretting.

Barton stood. He had a mohawk, and tattoos peeked out from the edges of his suit. More disparities.

He walked up to Barnes, placed his hands on his chest, a thumb brushing the singed skin through the hole burned in the suit from Tony’s blaster. One hand went to thread itself loosely through Barnes’ long hair.

 _‘Hey,’_ Barton whispered, though the camera picked up the audio anyway. _‘I love you.’_

Barnes’ expression softened a little. Fractionally. He bowed his head and pressed a light kiss to Barton’s lips. _‘I love you too.’_

From behind him, Tony heard, “We shouldn’t be watching that.”

Tony turned in his seat. Steve stood with his arms folded, looking displeased. “They know we’re watching.”

“So, what? You think it’s an act? I know Bucky. And Clint. Seems genuine to me.” There was an undertone there that Tony couldn’t pin down. Hurt? Jealousy? 

Raising an eyebrow, Tony pointed to the screen where Bucky was holding Clint and whispering to him, _‘I promise you that you’ll see them again. We’ll figure it out.’_

_‘How?’_

Bucky sighed. _‘I don’t know.’_

Tony asked, doubtfully, “This is in character? Really?”

Steve sighed and looked around since they were venturing into topics he and Tony only ever discussed behind closed doors, but no one else was nearby. “Like I said. I know Bucky.” He fidgeted, added, “All he ever wanted was to take care of someone.” 

Tony’s hand covered his mouth as he pondered the screen.

“We’ve gotta talk to them.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

“They’ve done nothing to indicate they’re a threat,” Steve said. “Except defend themselves. We’re the ones who pointed weapons at them.”

“They came through the damn machine, Steve. What were we supposed to do?”

With a groan, Tony ran a hand over his face and turned his back. “All right. Let’s get ‘em out.”

*

“I don’t know where to start,” Bucky admitted. He was holding Clint’s hand, both of them seated side-by-side on one side of the long glass table in the conference room, with Tony, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Scott, and Rhodey on the other. Everyone kept staring at the pair’s defiantly linked hands but it hadn’t dissuaded them so far. “Has Thanos happened here?”

The Avengers exchanged a glance. “A little over five years ago, yeah,” Steve replied.

Bucky looked expectant, “And?”

“And we handled it,” Tony answered. “Me and the kid. Strange. The Guardians.”

Clint’s eyes were red. Quietly upset, he wouldn’t meet their eyes. He sat forward, freeing his hand to cover his face and groan. Bucky’s hand moved to rest on his back instead.

“What?” Natasha asked.

Bucky shook his head, seemed to struggle to speak. “Not… not in our timeline.”

“What does that mean?” Tony asked.

Clint reached for the glass of water in front of him and chugged half of it down. Clearly distraught, he said, “You don’t have anything stronger than this, do you?” 

“It didn’t go that way,” Bucky said softly.

“How bad?” Steve asked.

Bucky opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Clint said, voice thick, “Half of all living creatures. Fucking half. Gone. Dust. Instantly. Five years ago.”

“Oh my god,” Steve gaped.

“Scott and Tony built the machine you’ve got downstairs. We used it to try and… fix it,” Bucky explained.

“And?”

Clint and Bucky looked at each other. Neither spoke for a long moment.

Natasha’s voice cut through the tense silence. “You said, ‘they’re dead.’ You meant us.”

“Yeah,” Clint said on an exhale, gaze fixed down on his hands.

“You,” Bucky told her, then looked over at the man seated to her left. “Steve.” Gaze shifted again. “Tony.”

“We got the others back, but…” Clint said, shaking his head.

Silence stretched again, until Bucky sat up a little straighter.

“Look, we knew right away when we came through that it was wrong. The timeline. You shouldn’t be here. You weren’t here when we left. That was the whole point. We…” He stopped, started again. “We were traumatized. We volunteered for a low-priority mission. Hulk and Scott sent us back thirty years to deploy a tracker.”

“Hulk?” Bruce echoed in disbelief.

“Yeah. Hulk,” Bucky confirmed. “And we stayed gone. We didn’t return. By choice. We stayed away for over a year. We just needed… to be left alone for a while. The people we’d lost… the things we had to do to try and make it right… It was too much. But now? I don’t… We don’t know what happened. What went wrong. If this is another timeline, or if we changed something somehow, or if our timeline is gone and this was the only place to land.” He shook his head, at a loss.

Clint struggled to get the words out, but he did. “I have a family. Kids. I lost them once to Thanos. If I’ve lost them again for good…”

Tony stood, walked to a nearby wet bar, poured some scotch into two glasses and brought them back to the table, sliding them across to Clint and Bucky. Clint nodded thanks, downed his glass, then looked to Bucky, who raised a finger slightly and nodded. Clint took the second glass and downed that one too. “Thanks.”

Natasha looked right at Clint and asked in a softened voice, “Why did you leave?”

He stared at her. “Half the world’s population was wiped out in an instant. For five years the few of us left had to keep it from going entirely to shit. My wife, all of my kids. Ash. They were gone. I was alone. So, I kept myself busy. By the time they were brought back, I was not the same person.”

“And you?” Steve asked Bucky.

“Oh, I died in the snap,” Bucky told him levelly.

“Jesus,” Tony sighed.

Steve was looking intensely at Bucky. It quickly became apparent there was wordless communication going on there. Everyone tuned into it and waited.

“You can ask,” Bucky invited.

Steve looked down at his hands. “How did I die? The battle, I guess?”

“No.” He let the word hang there, as if to make sure it did as much damage possible. “No, you left after the battle. Had a mission to return the infinity stones and just never came back. You went back to Peggy, retired, and died of old age eight days before Clint and I went on our mission.”

Steve look as if he’d been struck. “No, I wouldn’t. I—”

“You did.” The vibe in the room got awkward fast, the Avengers sheepish. “It’s fine. It worked out for the best.”

“Ouch,” Natasha said under her breath.

“Buck, I’m… I’m so sorry,” Steve told him, with clear sincerity.

“It wasn’t you. It was him. And he never apologized.”

“Well, we know why they left,” Natasha scoffed. “Jesus, Steve.”

“What?”

“Okay, enough,” Tony cut in. “We—”

“Tony,” Bruce interrupted, calling up something from holo spinning in front of him. “Incoming transmission from the Guardians’ ship.”

After a heavy pause, Tony said. “Okay, bring it up.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. Go for it.”

A hologram of Clint with a different haircut and looking less weathered appeared above the center of the table.

Smiling, the image said, “Hey Tony, what’s the big emergency out there? We just got back in range to transmit, so… Wait, is that… What. I’m, uh. I’m confused. Is this live?”

“Hey buddy,” Tony said, plastering on a grin. “We’re all confused. Join the club. Yes, this is live. Yes, that’s, uh, you.”

In the room, Bucky’s hand had been toying absentmindedly at the back of Clint’s neck. Clint held his opened hand on the tabletop and Bucky took the cue, folding his inside of it and clearing his throat. 

“You from another timeline,” Clint explained from his seat at the table, to himself. “Hi. Weird, isn’t it? I never experienced it before, but Steve once had to fight himself. His younger self. Wish I’d seen it, honestly. Must have been hilarious.”

“It’s a time-travel thing,” Tony added. “They came through the machine. Somehow.”

“From a parallel universe, it seems.” Bruce said.

“We just wanted to check in on you,” Tony told the hologram. “Make sure you were still, you know. There.”

From behind hologram-Clint they heard a chipper voice ask, “Hey, who’s that on the screen? You got a better-looking twin brother you never told us about or somethin’?”

“Rocket, not now,” hologram-Clint grunted, shutting a door behind him to cut off Rocket’s view. “Tony, we’re all wrapped up out here, so we’re on our way back. Should be back there in a few days." 

“Great. Great, yeah, we just wanted to touch base and it seems everything is fine there. We’ll keep you posted as soon as we know anything. There isn’t a plan, per se, yet. We’re still working that out.” 

“All right. So, it’s not going to mess anything up having two of me here?”

Bruce and Scott looked at each other, then at Tony. “Nah, we should be good, right? Right.”

“This is all very theoretical,” Bruce said. “We haven’t even tested the machine yet, or, you know, named it, so we have no idea the implications of using it or how certain encounters effect the timelines or the consequences of parallel universes interacting. We’ll learn what we can from these two and try to come up with some theories. But, so far so good.” 

“Cool cool.” hologram-Clint said with a tight, strained smile, the pitch of his voice climbing slightly. “Listen, uh, other me. Can I talk to you real quick, please? In private? Tony, that’s possible, right? It won’t mess with any continuum stuff?” 

The scientists among them kind of shrugged.

“Sure. That’s fine,” Tony replied. He activated the controls and moved some things around. “Hang on.” Pointing at tableside-Clint, Tony said, “You, follow me.”

“I stay with him,” Bucky chimed in with plenty of don’t-fucking-try-me finality. Clouds moved over Steve’s expression. Hologram-Clint had a hand over his mouth and some alarm in his eyes.

“I’m just putting him in the side room right here,” Tony told him. “Direct line of sight at all times. Promise. There are windows and everything.”

Tableside-Clint softened his voice and faced Bucky, saying, “It’s okay.”

Bucky didn’t seem convinced. But then tableside-Clint tenderly touched the side of Bucky’s face, holding direct eye-contact, then kissed his forehead. “I promise it’s okay.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky nodded in surrender.

“Thank you,” Tableside-Clint said to him. Then he stood and followed Tony through the side door into a smaller room with a round table and a few chairs. They could see Tony call up the video feed. The video feed’s connection in the main room vanished. Bucky had stood and restlessly shifted from foot to foot, eyes glued to Clint.

*

When the door shut, it sealed out all noise from outside the room. Clint could only assume it did the same in reverse, keeping their noise in. He didn’t know how to feel about talking to himself. It made it feel even more like he had lost his mind somewhere along the way. 

The image had a blue tint and his other self kept fidgeting, glancing past his alternate self to the room beyond as if to make sure they were really alone.

“They can’t hear us, right?” hologram-Clint asked.

“Nope. Don’t think so.”

“Let’s test it, just to be sure.” He cleared his throat and yelled, “Captain America fucks goats!”

Tableside-Clint raised his eyebrows and looked around. There had been no reaction from the other room, or anywhere else. Though he did think he heard Rocket laughing his ass off somewhere in the background of the video feed. “Nope, nothing.” 

“Great. So. Hi. Talking to myself has never felt so vivid. Nice haircut. What’s with the outfit?”

Tableside-Clint looked down at himself, “Oh, quantum-realm-traveling gear. Didn’t pack a suitcase.”

He knew something was wrong, and that it was upsetting his doppelganger but strangely couldn’t figure out what it was. But he should know, shouldn’t he? Or at least have an inkling? 

Hologram-Clint loudly cleared his throat and looked down, away from the camera. “So, uh, I couldn’t help but notice. You and Bucky.”

“Right,” he nodded, beginning to understand. “Yeah, that’s a long story.”

“No no, it’s not that. Your life is clearly different than mine, and your Bucky is really different than mine,” he added in an undertone. “It’s just… I’m not out to anyone as bi. Not even Nat. And never planned to be. And yet.”

“Oh. Oh, fuck,” tableside-Clint exclaimed, smacking his own forehead. He held out his hands, palms facing the hologram. “I’m so sorry.” Hologram-Clint was quiet, wide-eyed with his own terror, now that he didn’t have to work to hide it. “I’ve just gotten so far past that with everything that’s happened. It never even occurred to me to hide it. It was intense when we arrived, and I panicked, and when I panic Bucky just knows what to do to calm me down, which I guess unfortunately for you involves touching. Just, you know, physical contact. He’s literally the only thing I have, so we’ve gotten pretty co-dependent. But of course now the others are gonna know, since you and me are the same in the basic ways, if not the details. Fuck. I’m so sorry for outing you. Er, me. Whatever.” He didn’t know what to say or do. “I’d suggest maybe they didn’t notice, but…”

“They noticed,” Hologram-Clint said heavily.

“Right.”

“Could you just… tone it down a little? Not kiss him in front of people anymore, or something?”

That stopped him short. Regret melted rapidly into offense.

“Look Clint,” he started, sounding snippier than he would have liked, “I get it. I wasn’t out for a long time either. But after all the shit I’ve been through, which you have _not_ been through, no, I’m not going to ‘tone it down’. Life is too goddamned short, and I love him with all that I am or will ever be. We both know—vividly—that any fucking moment could be our last, so we agreed a long time ago that we wouldn’t waste any of them anymore, for anything or anybody. I’m not Steve. I don’t have a precious image to uphold. I will not tell him to act like we’re just good buddies for other people’s comfort. Feel free to blame whatever you need to on me. Say all of this must have messed with my head or something and turned me queer. I don’t care. That’s your call.”

He realized he was breathing hard and forced himself to calm down. He glanced over and locked eyes with Bucky through the glass, who looked like he was coming out of his skin. He knew Bucky could tell he was upset, and play-acting wouldn’t change that. They knew each other too damn well. So he just gave a little wave and a nod to placate him.

Hologram-Clint was visibly displeased.

“They’re not homophobes,” tableside-Clint told him. “I promise. They’re not going to judge you for this. They know you’re married. Right? You’re married?” There was a nod. “So who cares if you’re bi? It literally doesn’t affect anything. But, I am sorry.”

“Me too,” he replied, resigned.

*

Clint returned to the main conference room with a groan. “God, I’m a pain in the ass,” he complained as he reclaimed his seat. They all looked at him expectantly, especially Bucky. Clint just gave him a closed-lipped smile and took his hand, weaving their fingers together and letting their hands fall with a distinct ‘clunk’ on the tabletop. And just because he liked to cross lines he wasn’t supposed to, he asked the room with a clearly smartass tone, “Oh hey, does anyone have a problem with this, by the way?” He indicated his linked hand.

Many murmurs of “No.” and “Of course not.”

“Great. Glad to hear it. Where were we?”

“Well,” Tony said, “We were just talking about how we need to get you two into a regular room and out of the cell. Clint, you, uh, well. The other Clint has a room here. He leaves clothes and obviously you should fit in those if you want to borrow them.”

“He might mind,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah, well. He’s not here and you are. Bucky? Steve is about your size, right? Right. Steve, lend him something to wear. Bruce and I want to take a close look at all of the gear you two came through with. It’s the best place to start if we want to try and figure out what happened. Maybe we can reverse-engineer something. We’ll also want to sit down with you both and pick your brains. We need a full, detailed report of what you experienced. Everything and anything you can remember. The details of your mission, everything leading up to the mission, who you interacted with where you went, when you went, how you came back. All of that stuff.” 

“You really think you can figure this out?” Clint asked them. 

“Well, we’ll see,” Bruce answered. “We’ve tried to be as careful and thorough as possible with the machine, which is why we’ve been hesitant to use it, especially on people. Honestly, it blows my mind that I sent you through without more extensive testing beforehand. Pinpointing your specific reality, and getting you both back there, together, in one piece, at the right time? Tall order.”

“But you’re here. You’re safe,” Steve told them. “Let’s just be glad for that.”

Clint felt Bucky give his hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Steve. And just to clarify, we told you guys we’re retired, right? Officially.”

“Fine with us,” Tony replied.

“We’re happy to consult,” Clint said, looking to Bucky as he said it. “Compare notes.”

“Sounds great.”

*

Twenty minutes later, they were in one of the empty suites on the residential level. It all looked perfectly familiar, which is what made it feel so weird. Clint had grabbed some things from his doppelganger’s room. The small heap was tossed on the bed.

Clint groaned heavily and walked forward into Bucky’s awaiting arms, burying his face against his neck. Bucky smoothed his hand through Clint’s hair, his nose and lips buried against his scalp.

“Gotta check this place for bugs,” Bucky murmured to himself.

“You really think they’d… yeah, I guess they might,” Clint said, answering his own question. “Why, you got a plan I should know about?”

“A plan for what I’m gonna do to you later, yeah. And I don’t need Tony Stark watching.”

Clint glanced around without letting Bucky go. The place was pretty barren—just a queen size bed, a small couch, a small table and chairs, a chest of drawers, nightstand and lamp, and a simple connecting bathroom. “Guess we’ll have to improvise. Maybe they left some Vaseline in here.” 

“We’ll figure out something. It’s a good problem to have.” He pulled back and took Clint’s face in his hands. “What happened in there?”

Clint opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak there was a knock at the door, and a clear, “It’s Steve.”

“Swell,” Clint exhaled, letting Bucky go. He walked to the bed and started the long process of unfastening the suit.

Bucky answered the door.

Steve was holding a neatly-folded stack of clothing and a pair of shoes. Clint compared it to his messy heap and laughed. “Typical. Shit, I forgot to grab shoes. Eh, barefoot is fine.”

“I can get you a pair,” Steve offered.

“Thanks.”

Steve looked at Bucky, and Clint could feel the tension build in the air. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Bucky replied, giving away nothing.

“Maybe this is inappropriate to say, but I missed you, Buck.” 

“I’m not yours.”

Steve took the hit and nodded. “I know,” he allowed. “Still. You look… incredible. Healthy. Happy. Strong. When I left you—him—he wasn’t good. However you got from there to here? I’m glad.” 

Bucky cocked his head thoughtfully, his arms folded. “I remember this version of you. Pre-Thanos.”

“He killed you,” Steve spat, chewing on the words, sounding like he was ready and willing to go out there and kick Thanos’ ass all over again.

“He killed a lot of us.” 

“Who brought you back?” 

Bucky breathed out a laugh. “Hulk. With the infinity gauntlet. A modified one, anyway.”

“Wow,” Steve said with amazement. “And he survived?”

“Yeah. Scorched his arm to hell, but yeah.”

“Impressive. And Thanos?”

“Mmm,” Bucky said, bowing his head and shifting his stance before making direct eye contact again. “Tony. Tony killed him. With the gauntlet.”

Clint watched the implication hit him, saw Steve pale slightly. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah. He had a daughter. She was almost five years old. Morgan. God, how he loved that little girl.” 

Clint’s chest got suddenly tight, burning and strangling him. He covered his face with a hand and did some breathing exercises, trying not to think about whether or not he’d ever see his own kids again. 

“What else can I do? Whatever it is, just name it. I want to help.”

“I know,” Bucky replied. “There’s nothing. This isn’t your problem to fix.”

“Like hell it isn’t.”

Bucky sighed. When there was no sign of Steve budging or leaving, Bucky said, “I’ll let you know, okay?” 

“Okay. I’ll hold you to that. You two are not alone here. You might not have been ours when you landed here, but you are now.”

Clint wiped his eyes and had to laugh again. “Would you get a load of this guy? He really is a piece of work. Like a living, breathing, motivational poster. Never gets old.”

“Clint, are you okay?” Steve asked.

“No. I’m not. But maybe I’ll get there eventually.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Steve began, “but I know how you’re feeling. And I want you to keep in mind that just because we had to leave them, and lost them to a different time, it doesn’t mean they can’t have a good life. A full life. There are some times where we just need to find a way to let go. It might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but it’s possible.”

“Is it? You went back. You went back to her, you didn’t lose her.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere. Have I?” He stepped back. “I’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner’s at six. You can eat with us or not. Your choice. Clint, I’ll bring the shoes.”

Without turning, looking down at his mess, he replied, “Thanks, Steve.”

The door closed with a soft click.

“You think he approves of this? You and me? I mean, how could he?” Clint wondered.

“Look.”

Clint turned. Bucky had removed the top two shirts and the shoes from the pile. Seated neatly in the stack, previously hidden, were two bottles of lube and a neat stack of condoms.

Bucky burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the outer edges. “The look on your face right now…”

“I mean, I thought you were kidding.”

“The whole time? I don’t lie to you,” he promised, still laughing. “Like I’ve told you a thousand times, he’s not as pure as he makes it seem.”

Clint folded his arms, covered his mouth with a hand, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing. That’s incredible. Steve Rogers, you dirty boy.”

*


	3. Chapter 3

_March 14, 1989, Canada_

Bucky insisted on keeping watch every night for the first week, taking naps during the day while Clint hunted nearby to make up for it. They’d found a cache of weapons in the locked metal vaults in the basement, accessed thanks to Bucky’s incredible strength, both of their lock-picking abilities, and some elbow grease. His first sight of the bow had Clint bouncing with joy, and itching to go looking for fresh meat for their dinner. There was plenty of canned and freeze-dried food, but fresh was better if you could get it. 

The vibranium arm only came off when Bucky showered. Clint would hear the faint ‘clunk’ as Bucky set it down on the vanity, from behind the closed door.

They gave each other space. 

Bucky started to explain how his time in Wakanda had shown him how to simplify and turn his focus within in order to find peace. He began to explain things like breathing exercises, meditation, tai chi, yoga, and the value of working with your hands to provide your own basic needs. 

Slowly, a weight began to lift. 

They knew the world would not end. They would not be needed without warning. For the first time ever, they had control over their lives.

They scouted the land around the cabin, and started to construct a map of what was where. The nearest road was four miles away. There were two lakes and no other buildings, besides a couple of underground store-rooms sprinkled here and there. The cabin used well-water. The electricity came from solar panels arranged out back.

By week’s end, Clint had found plenty of nearby edible plants to add to their existing store of preserved food.

They didn’t talk much. They didn’t touch, and that was fine with Clint. After their intense initial conversation, he needed time to ease into the reality of what they’d said to each other.

The practical truth was they were both quiet people who naturally kept to themselves. Being paired up showed them quickly how well their natures meshed, how comfortable silence could be, and how nice it was to just be with someone you could count on in a cozy, normal kind of living. No matter what mundane task they set out to do, they could do it together if they liked, with barely any rough edges to watch out for.

Clint knew Bucky liked his solitude, and tended to stay separate from the rest of the Avengers, except of course for Steve. Steve, to Bucky, had been his comfort zone. Now that Steve was gone, there was a gap left to fill. Clint grew to understand what it must have been like to be Bucky’s Steve, and he didn’t hate it. Bucky was always prepared, aware, and considerate. He was the perfect companion.

Clint’s world had been a two-faced coin, with chaotic family life on one side, three kids, a wife, a farm, and a house to manage. On the other side was violence, death, and danger while living on the move and out of sight. He’d never found a way to make his worlds mesh.

And then there was Bucky, who could do the day-to-day stuff with him, and be good at it, but also understood the life of a vigilante. He provided the comfort on one hand, and the understanding on the other. Bucky knew more about what Clint’s life as Hawkeye was really like than his wife, Laura, ever had. Stories and explanations were never going to match actually being there together and living through it. 

On their eighth day at the cabin, a line between them was finally, delicately crossed.

Clint had taken down a doe earlier and had worked hard to quickly skin and clean it, breaking it down and butchering it neatly to be stored for them to eat. Bucky grilled up a pair of steaks and they’d savored every bite while the radio played.

Worn out, Clint felt his body crashing, and bed calling. He stood at the sink, washing up their dishes as Bucky cleared the table and put things away. The golden glow from the rustic light fixture hanging from the ceiling over the table was the only illumination in the whole house. The window above the sink showed starlight glinting off the solar panels out back. The hot, soapy water slid slickly over Clint’s tired hands and he dreamed of a bath.

The further his thoughts slipped away, the more his guard dropped. He didn’t hear Bucky step up behind him, but felt the heat of his body baking the air. His nearness made the hair stand up on end all over Clint’s body. He tuned in his senses, taking deeper breaths to try and catch Bucky’s scent without being obvious about it. He circled a sponge over the plate in his hands, dipped it into the water, and froze as he felt the first touch.

Shivering, he closed his eyes as the back of a knuckle dragged oh-so-lightly down the back of his neck. It moved over the neck of his too-small t-shirt and traced down along his spine.

He always got still when he focused. His back straightened and not a muscle moved, but his breathing grew heavier. It sounded loud in the stillness.

He felt Bucky shift even closer, but still not enough to make further contact. Clint waiting for the tickle of the ends of Bucky’s hair to touch his neck, but it didn’t come. It was just that bent finger, moving as slow as molasses.

“I can finish up,” Bucky said softly just behind Clint’s ear, the pleasant vibration of the sounds raising even more goosebumps.

The finger pulled away as it ventured down towards Clint’s lower back. When Bucky’s open hand touched there instead, the plate slid out of Clint’s grip. The hand moved in a gradual caress over toward Clint’s right side, then slipped down. The bare pad of his thumb slid up under the hem of Clint’s shirt to barely skim the skin of his back, just above the top of his jeans.

His skin tightened from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. He couldn’t catch his breath. But his body wouldn’t move, either, like a spell had been cast over him. Bucky had hypnotized him somehow.

Suddenly, nothing else mattered in the whole of existence but the pad of that thumb, stroking in a small arc over his lower back.

He had no idea how long the moment lasted. It simultaneously felt like years and like barely a second.

But then… there. The ends of long, dark hair brushed against his neck, a touch as light as silk. He stifled a moan, catching it in his throat. The embarrassment finally woke him up.

“Yeah, I’ll go... go get washed up,” Clint stammered.

He gripped the counter’s edge hard, his grip white-knuckled, as he titled his head to expose his neck, praying, but just felt more tickling of hair, barely brushing against him, and Bucky’s solid body only an inch away, right behind him.

Bucky.

It was still weird. He still felt like Steve’s. There was a wave of guilt, so he moved despite all of his better instincts and left the kitchen.

After the coldest of showers, he came back down. Everything was cleaned up. Bucky sat in an armchair with a book in the study, a fire crackling in the hearth. It was so gloriously fucking domestic. Again, only the one lamp was lit, on the end table beside him.

It had become part of their routine. Without a TV in the house, just the radio, Clint would lay on the couch and listen to it play and sort through his tangled thoughts. Bucky would read.

Clint stretched out on the couch as usual, letting the darkness and calm wrap around him like a blanket. Seventies classic rock was playing softly from the radio.

After a single, furtive glance, his book lowered, Bucky stood. He came over to the couch, lifted Clint’s feet and sat where they’d been resting, laying them on his lap instead, the book set aside.

Clint fought to keep his eyes shut, to not be weird about it. To just relax and let it happen. The off-limits feel of Bucky kept him tense, though.

He was barefoot and second-guessing that choice now.

When Bucky took hold of one of Clint’s feet and began to massage it, pressing hard into the arch, rubbing over the top of his foot, Clint couldn’t stop an abrupt moan. Bucky gave little twisting pulls to each of Clint’s toes, doing one foot and then the other.

“Jesus, why—how are you so good at that,” Clint managed, his voice breaking. He could barely lay still, the massage deepening until he felt the tension wringing out of him against his will.

The strangeness of Bucky—Bucky!—stroking lightly between his toes, sliding his powerful hands along the underside of Clint’s feet, squeezing his heels, would not let him go.

The aching tiredness in Clint’s body began to win out. The more amazing the massage felt as it drew out longer than expected, the more Clint was lulled. He didn’t even realize it when he drifted off to sleep.

He woke with a small start. 

Upstairs. In bed.

“How did I…” He frowned, looking around and propping himself up on his elbows.

“I carried you,” Bucky explained, his voice a wisp in the darkness.

Well, that was embarrassing. He tried not to picture it. And failed.

“Go back to sleep.”

Clint groaned, settling back down.

Then he squinted over at Bucky He was standing a few feet away, and… detaching his arm.

“Is it okay with you if I don’t stand guard tonight? I think we’re safe. I’m a light sleeper anyway.”

“Sure. Yeah." 

Bucky set the arm down and let out a contented sigh. He rubbed the side of his body where his arm had been attached. 

Usually Bucky sat in a chair in the room Clint slept in, or wandered the halls. Now, he gazed across the hall at the other empty bedrooms. 

But Clint’s bed was big, and it felt wrong to not have Bucky close by. Funny how quickly he’d grown to depend on his presence.

“Hey, you can, um. I mean, the bed’s big enough.”

Bucky looked over at him, his eyes unreadable in the dimness.

“I shouldn’t.”

“What are you, a gentleman? I trust you. Stay.” Bucky exhaled, the shape of his chest falling and rising. Clint gathered his damaged pride and added a quiet, “Please?”

Bucky resisted a moment longer, then came over and crawled into the bed. It shifted under his weight. He settled down on the spare pillow. Then there was only the sound of their breathing. Strange things happened to the air around them. It both thickened and pressed down. It crackled like lightning was coming.

Clint wondered if he’d get any sleep at all, with Bucky lying shirtless so close to him, moments before he drifted off again.

*

He enjoyed watching Bucky sleep. That was a fun revelation. He looked angelic. Utterly at peace. Almost childlike. All of the tension he carried in his expression and posture vanished when he slept. It was beautiful to behold.

Clint cursed his full bladder and refused to get up, wanting Bucky to sleep beside him as long as possible. Eventually, Clint’s bladder won out. He tried to sneak away to the bathroom, and crept back.

It turned out Bucky had been pretending to still be asleep. As soon as Clint had laid down on his back, Bucky’s hypnotic fingers quested over the gap between them and began to trace the tattoos along Clint’s arm, feather-light.

Right away, it started to make Clint hard, so he bent his knee and propped his foot on the bed to hide it. 

“Why’d you get them?” Bucky asked.

“God, I don’t have any idea. Felt good at the time. I don’t hate ‘em.”

“Neither do I. I always liked guys with tattoos.”

The vibranium arm glinted where it lay on the dresser. Clint noticed because he knew if he looked over at Bucky, shirtless with sleep-mussed hair and a sweetly drowsy expression, tracing patterns on Clint’s skin with the tip of his middle finger, his body would probably turn itself inside out.

“You should leave it off. You don’t need it. It must be uncomfortable.”

“Mm.”

“God, that feels good.” He froze. “Fuck. Did I just say that out loud?”

“Nah.”

He unfolded Clint’s hand and traced down along his palm, up the undersides of his fingers.

“You ever experience something that feels so nice you’re sure it’s gonna kill you?”

“You deserve to feel nice. You just aren’t used to it.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s the whole point, right?” 

Clint couldn’t look at him. They’d never spoken about it after that first day, but both understood anyway. The biggest obstacle between them was there was too much baggage. Clint still saw him as either Steve’s or the Winter Soldier. But it was more than that. Clint had been fighting ‘til his last breath every day for over five years, with no way to stop but to die. He still had to learn to reconfigure his mind, heal, and process it all. What he was in that cabin for wasn’t sex. He could get that back home if he wanted it.

The thing he couldn’t get was real intimacy. A place to let down his high, reinforced walls. He wouldn’t make his wife carry the burden of what he’d done, but Bucky didn’t mind the load. He knew how to bear weight. More than that, he didn’t judge him for it.

Touch was the first step. It allowed them both to feel they weren’t alone. It gave comfort.

Clint was nowhere near ready to do anything like kiss Bucky. He couldn’t even be the one causing the touching yet. For the first few weeks, it was Bucky who literally reached out.

But that was part of their dynamic too. Bucky wanted to soothe. To be needed. To protect and care for. Clint needed the attention. He needed someone to want to help him that way. He needed someone to care. He’d been giving of himself for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to receive—not just in a sexual way. In any way. 

When they were doing anything—scouting, hunting the woods, fishing at the lakes, chopping wood, preparing meals, maintaining the property—now and then Clint would feel him there. A brush of his arm. A hand at his back.

And each and every one of the touches chipped away at Clint’s high, reinforced walls.

It wasn’t sexual, but it was. The longer it went on, the more it got below Clint’s skin. And he knew Bucky felt it. He witnessed the reactions. They were visceral. They made Clint feel weak and exposed. They put his want on display for them both to see. They made him hard and desperate.

One day, weeks later, they were outside with the ax, splitting logs and stacking firewood. Their shirts were off. The vibranium arm gleamed in the scorching sunlight. Sweat rolled down their bodies. When Clint dropped the ax to catch his breath, a vivid flashback hitting him from back in Taiwan, three years earlier—sending him back into the blinding light of an alley where he’d dropped his katana and had a knife to his throat—the world of Bucky and comfort dropped clean away. 

Hands touched him—restrained him—but he didn’t feel it. Didn’t hear Bucky calling his name, telling him it was okay. He only started to come out of it when he fell into Bucky’s arms, hugging him tightly, his face buried against the junction of Bucky’s neck and shoulder. Gasping, shaking, he could only let it run its course. Fingers cupped against the back of his head. Lips pressed against his temple, and sun-warmed metal lay against his back.

“I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Clint said, trying to pull away, mortified.

“Don’t,” Bucky said. “Don’t apologize for that.”

He let Clint detach, but stayed there, watching, measuring, maybe even plotting. As soon as Clint didn’t feel Bucky anymore, the empty land around them opened up. It was too big. Their position too exposed. Panic clawed at him. His breathing grew shallower.

So Bucky stepped up close, obscenely close, breathing against Clint’s neck, his long hair tickling there. A hand slipped around Clint’s waist and Clint finally chose to touch him back. He laid a hand on Bucky’s bare chest, reached up with his other arm and brushed the long, soft tendrils back from the side of his beautiful face. And then he couldn’t stop. He stood there, twisting a wavy lock of Bucky’s hair through his fingers, feeling his heartbeat. Physically, practically, it would have been so easy just to kiss him. All it would have taken was a slight turn of Clint’s head, a lift of his chin.

Honestly, it amazed him that Bucky was able to hold back so much. It would have been nothing for him to force anything. There was no question of his ability to overpower Clint, emotionally or otherwise.

He was so fucking patient.

When Clint finally stepped away, he ran his hands over his face, groaning, flushed with shame.

Softly, at his back, “It’s okay to need this.”

“Is it? It feels really selfish.”

“You get to be selfish.” 

“So do you.”

“This _is_ me being selfish.”

Clint scoffed.

“You don’t believe me?” Clint still had his back turned, his eyes closed, and his willpower barely hanging on. Everything in his body screamed out for more of anything, as long as they were touching, even if it hurt. “All I’ve had is Steve. Steve can’t be vulnerable. It’s not in him. Not like this. He used to be, but only in ways he couldn’t change or fix, until he could, and then he did. That was a long, long time ago. You can’t always let someone go just because they change. I love him. I always will. But he didn’t always give me what I needed.”

A hand slipped over Clint’s side. Lips brushed behind his ear, and his breath caught. His body undulated slightly, against his will as the caress moved down it. Grunting, he tried to get it together.

“For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the broken one. I don’t feel like that with you. So, yeah, it’s selfish.”

“So you admit you’re trying to break me?”

“How’m I doing?”

“So fucking good.”

They both smiled, the tension eased.

*

It was morning. They’d had a breakfast of oatmeal from storage and leftover venison steaks. Bucky planned to get up on the roof to fix a leak, and Clint itched to go out and wander a while. But maybe not quite yet. 

He watched Bucky push his hair behind an ear as he got some tools together, laying them out on the table.

“Hey, um,” Clint spoke up. “Can I braid your hair?”

Bucky’s eyebrow shot up, he smiled a little. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Come on. It’ll keep it out of your way.”

With a shrug and an eh-why-not expression, he followed Clint over to the couch in the next room. Clint instructed him to sit on the fur rug, between Clint’s legs as he sat on the couch.

Taking his time, Clint brushed the tangles out of Bucky’s hair, giving him a little scalp massage too. Bucky sat with his feet planted wide, his thick arms braced on his legs. For once, Clint got to be the one witnessing Bucky’s reactions. His muscles unclenched as Clint brushed. When he ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, pulling gently, stimulating the roots, Clint heard him give a small moan.

Smiling in victory, he kept going.

“How’d you learn to braid?” Bucky asked as Clint separated the hair at the top of Bucky’s head into three segments.

“My daughter.”

“Mm.”

He wasn’t doing it entirely for Bucky. Clint privately just loved to touch Bucky’s hair. Getting permission to sit and take his time with it felt decadent.

“You know,” he said eventually, to fill the charged quiet, half the french braid already completed. “Thor let me braid his hair.”

Bucky scoffed. 

“No, I swear. Those Asgardians love a good braid.” Bucky tried to turn and look at him to see if he was joking, but Clint kept tight hold of the ends of his hair. “What? You thought Thor braids his own hair?”

“Well, yeah, no. I guess not.”

“But… more than once?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wow.” After a thoughtful pause, added, “Weird.”

“Jealous?”

He breathed out a little laugh but Clint noticed he didn’t deny it.

“Which of the Guardians do you think is doing his braids now?” Bucky wondered.

“Could be Quill. He knows how to do it.”

“Okay, now you’re just lying.”

“No, I swear. God knows how he picked it up, though. Of course, he can’t stand Thor, so maybe Groot’s doing it.”

Bucky laughed.

Clint finished the braid, wrapping the end in a rubber band and tucking the ends up under the base of the braid so the whole thing lay neatly against Bucky’s head. He let his fingers keep brushing the back of Bucky’s neck and the little hairs there. Bucky let his head fall forward, breathing out what sounded like another faint moan.

Encouraged, Clint kept going, he caressed down to Bucky’s shoulders, wrapped his hands around the back of his neck and stroked up to his ears, caressing behind them and around to his jaw. He felt absolutely solid everywhere Clint touched, like a living statue, though his skin was so warm and soft. It made him want to touch Bucky everywhere, every inch of him from head to toe, with his hands or his tongue, to feel him up against his body, or pressing down on him from above like a human wall Clint could hide behind and feel safe. The natural scent of him was getting in Clint’s head, making him want to lean in, breathe in deeper...

In hindsight what happened next was hilarious, but in reality when it happened—because it happened so damned fast—the raw, sexual power of Bucky very literally made Clint stop breathing entirely. 

Bucky spun up from his seated position between Clint’s legs to his knees, facing Clint. In the same movement, he grabbed Clint’s thighs, pressed them to spread wider and simultaneously yanked him forward. His hands, both human and metal, slid up Clint’s thighs and gripped there. Bucky was breathing hard, his mouth less than an inch from Clint’s.

It took a few beats before Clint remembered to resume breathing, and by then he was gasping for air from the long disruption in access to it. To steady himself, he’d automatically braced a hand on Bucky’s solid, broad chest, and his other on the side of Bucky’s neck. Nearly all of his attention was fixed on Bucky’s hands, clamped down on his upper inner thighs. Blood rushed to his cock fast enough to leave him lightheaded. His crotch was just barely short of touching Bucky’s pelvis. Clint had no power over his reactions as he rolled his hips, trying to shift forward across the rest of the gap.

He didn’t go anywhere. He had a supersoldier holding him down, after all.

Seeing Clint try to fuck himself against him pushed Bucky further across the line. He growled, low in his throat, his lips parted and tasting the air barely escaping from Clint’s mouth.

It was a display that made oh-so-much clear. Like how easy it would really be for Bucky to take of Clint’s body whatever he might want. And how helpless Clint was against him. And how stupid he’d been for holding off so long, because all he wanted was to keep going now that Bucky had pushed them over the edge.

The rush of it continued though. Nothing about it was rational, and only made sense in hindsight. Clint found himself chasing Bucky’s mouth, panting too hard to kiss even if he’d managed to catch it. Which he couldn’t. Bucky chased away each time Clint came in. His lips were right there, and Clint felt he’d die unless he finally felt them against his own, and tasted his tongue.

But he knew what this was. Bucky had put on the brakes again. He had Clint spread and willing, but wasn’t letting him touch. He was trying to maintain control.

Bucky’s mouth hovered over Clint’s. He bared his teeth, flexed his jaw. Clint kept trying to grind against him, falling short.

“This doesn’t help you. I’m gonna go,” Bucky rasped, trying to talk sense into himself.

“Don’t,” Clint begged. Figuring he needed to play dirty, he caressed down to Bucky’s thick pectoral muscle and brushed his thumb over Bucky’s nipple. It caused him to writhe, like Clint’s touch was electrified, and the distraction allowed him to finally, finally brush his lips against him.

It was the slightest, lightest touch, but Bucky shuddered. His hand was suddenly locked around Clint’s jaw, forcing his chin up. He licked into Clint’s mouth, past his lips and back over his tongue. Clint’s back arched as Bucky pressed into him, taking everything he could. Almost right away, he pulled back, nipping at Clint’s lower lip as he went. 

Bucky twisted his head away, mouth closed tightly, breathing hard through his nose.

Clint finally got it, and laughed breathlessly. “You…” he panted, “Are way less patient when I’m the one touching you. Huh?”

Bucky shot him a fiery look.

“Stop holding back,” Clint dared, still dizzy, feeling as wanton as a whore.

“No,” Bucky growled. 

“You’re protecting me from this, too, aren’t you?” he realized. “You think I can’t take it? What are you so afraid of? Let me touch you. You won’t hurt me.”

“But I will,” Bucky snapped. “You’re not him! He’s the only one I ever… and you’re just a man, Clint! I will hurt you!” Growling, he added in deadly promise, “And I will _not_ hurt you.”

The braid was keeping all of Bucky’s hair out of his face, allowing Cling a full, up-close look at all of the emotions flickering across it.

“You’re a solider. How about a direct order? Hmm? Fucking kiss me.”

Bucky resisted.

Clint softened his voice and it broke apart with raw desperation as he pleaded, “Kiss me.”

But he didn’t. What he did was allow Clint to catch him. Teasing his lips, feathering them over Bucky’s, barely brushing the tip of his tongue over the swell of his bottom lip, then touching his tongue against Bucky’s as he opened for him. Clint moaned and used a grip at the back of Bucky’s head to press in. He felt the kiss all the way down his body.

It kept going. It seemed Bucky had lost his grip on the brake. They kissed until Clint’s lips and jaw ached.

But his cock throbbed even more painfully, his balls swollen heavy and full. It wasn’t a conscious decision when he wrapped his legs around Bucky, clenched and thrust as hard as he could. His ass came right off the couch, the metal hand cupped under it and—too easily—holding him up. Bucky squeezed his ass and caressed his thigh as Clint finally got some relief. The defined ridges of Bucky’s abdomen were the perfect thing to fuck against and Clint couldn’t have stopped even if a gun had been pointed to his head.

Panting like he was sprinting, he broke the kiss and made desperate cries as he snapped his hips, coming in his pants after just a few pushes against Bucky’s abs.

He shivered and let Bucky take control of the kissing again, which led to Clint fighting for air after only a few moments. He clung tightly to Bucky’s body, aware of both the warmth of the spreading wet spot and the steely prodding of Bucky’s stiffened cock against his clothed ass. 

Clint managed to get out, “What do you need?” 

The reply was an abrupt, “Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Bucky kissed down Clint’s neck, across his jaw, sucking and biting at his earlobe and everything else he could reach. They moved and Clint didn’t even really know it until his back touched the rug on the wooden floor and Bucky was suddenly above him. 

Clint loosened the grip of his legs, pushed his right hand down between them and grabbed a handful of Bucky’s thick bulge. His fingers had only just grazed the long length of him before Bucky had wrenched the hand away and pinned it down up above Clint’s head.

“No,” Bucky breathed.

“Please.”

“No.”

“I want to. Let me touch you.”

Bucky silenced him with a slow, unhurried, light kiss that was all skimming lips and teasing drags of teeth.

Clint went for it anyway with his free hand, yanking open Bucky’s fly and reaching inside. He got a thick handful and tugged.

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, thrusting against the next tug. His metal arm clanked against the floor, his hips rolling with the increasing speed of Clint’s pulls. He made them as rough as he could, not holding anything back. Bucky came in a flood over his fingers, with a whimper, a quivering lip, and a sweet frown.

“Christ, why are you so fucking beautiful,” Clint said with awe.

Bucky shuddered against him as Clint pumped him to completion, biting gently down on Clint’s shoulder as he weathered all the aftershocks.

They broke, each falling onto their backs, lying side-by-side on the floor and gasping at the ceiling. 

“We should get cleaned up. Do something constructive.”

“God yes, please.”

Clint could feel the magnetic pull of him, the primal force of the man beside him—his heat, scent, energy, and power—trying to draw him in again, whispering wordless promises that everything he could ever need might be found inside the welcoming embrace of his mismatched arms. It felt dangerous and he didn’t know if he could trust it.

That night was the first of many in which they laid tucked up against each other in sleep. That act more than any other permanently destroyed the line carved between them that defined them as teammates, or even as friends. And on nights when Clint played the part of the little spoon, he could sometimes feel the blunt edge of the Winter Soldier’s desire. Then, he knew, it wouldn’t be long before they turned the last corner, for good.

*


	4. Chapter 4

_2019, Avengers Compound_

“We need to get you two some phones or coms or something,” Tony said. “Being old fashioned has its charms but so does being practical. Rumor says you’re looking for me?” 

Bucky rose from his seat near the window, overlooking the landing pad and grounds of Avengers headquarters.

After a furtive glance around to make sure they were alone, Bucky nodded and said, “Yeah. There’s a medic on hand around here somewhere, right? Or you can call in a doctor? We can’t pay, but I figured—”

Tony waved off the suggestion. “We’ve got people. Why?” Tony frowned, folding his arms. “Something wrong?”

“Well, I hope not.” He let out a heavy exhale. “I need someone to look him over, make sure he’s okay.” 

“You think something went wrong on the trip here?”

“No. No, it’s not that. This is about before. Before we left.”

“I see.” Tony tilted his head to look at Bucky from another angle, took a step or two toward the window and then back. “Why _did_ you two leave?”

“Because…” Bucky slowly confessed. “He got sick. Really sick. A viral thing is my best guess. Fever. Chills. Trouble breathing. The over-the-counter meds we had access to didn’t help much. Nearest hospital was about fifty miles away. No vehicle to get us there. Not a lot of traffic to try and hitchhike. Plus we were in the middle of a cold snap with a few feet of snow on the ground. I could have carried him, but the exposure would have made him worse. We, um. We fought. A lot. About whether to come home. There was one night… Tony, I thought I was gonna lose him. I thought about getting him in the suit and forcing him to make the trip, but didn’t know if the stress of it would be the thing that took him from me for good so…. But, the fever broke. I made him promise to leave as soon as he could manage it. And here we are. He swears he’s fine.”

He let Tony see the harried concern in his eyes, something Bucky usually kept well hidden, especially from Clint.

“Mm. Proud and stubborn. My kind of guy. Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’ll make the call. If he’s okay with it I’ll have my AI do a full-body scan, but sounds like he might need a full work-up, just to be safe.”

“Thank you. Really.”

“I’ll send someone to get you once the doc is here. We’ll make it happen today.” 

He nodded, feeling lighter as Tony left with a nod. There was more Bucky had to say—a lot more. It would wait. Nothing was more important than Clint’s health and, whether he liked it or not, Tony was the best person to help. The rest of what Bucky had to address with Stark could come after.

*

Clint agreed to the battery of tests Bucky and Tony had ordered for him, mostly because he knew how stressed Bucky had been over the lingering illness that had soundly kicked his ass. Clint had lost weight and still wasn’t as strong as he’d been. Sometimes he had a coughing fit powerful enough to double him over, but other than that he thought he was on the mend. He tried to keep most of that to himself, but Bucky’s powers of observation were too damn efficient. 

Sitting on the edge of an exam table, he pressed a strip of medical tape down over a wad of gauze where they’d taken a blood sample and nodded to the female doctor—Dr. Niami, an associate of Tony’s he’d never seen in his timeline—as she stepped out of the room, a tray in hand full small containers full of blood, urine, some throat swabs, and urethral swabs. He didn’t know if she was done with him yet but god, he sure hoped so. 

The doc had mentioned giving him a full course of antibiotics, just in case, and the AI scan had already come back clean so that was some leverage he could use to keep Bucky calm.

“Thank you,” Bucky said softly to him. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Clint sighed, but smiled over at him. “You know it’s your turn next, right?”

“You know I have advanced healing abilities, right?”

“Motherfucker.”

There was a knock at the door. When he called for them to come in, it opened to reveal Natasha.

“Hey,” she said to Clint. He hopped down from the table and stood.

“I’ll, uh, give you two the room,” Bucky said, clapping Clint on the shoulder before he excused himself.

Clint didn’t know what to say. They hadn’t yet been alone in a room together. In fact, he’d been trying pretty hard to avoid it. It was damn near impossible to even look at her, because then the memories came rushing back. She was hanging onto him, telling him to let go.

She’d let go but he never had.

“I read your report,” she told him, her voice almost uncharacteristically gentle. He and Bucky had delivered a thorough recap of the crucial events that had happened, both during their mission and the events leading up to it with Thanos and the stones.

He nodded, head bowed, expression contorted with emotion he fought to hold back. It was inappropriate. It wasn’t really her.

He’d explained how they’d lost his Natasha. But it had been a dry paragraph of typed words. There was no way for them to capture what it had really been like.

“Clint, I can’t imagine…” she started, broke off in a laughing breath that was full of sadness. “I can’t begin to fathom what you went through. Both of you. But at least Bucky was gone for those five years and didn’t…” she shook her head. “I know what it’s like to have no choice but to clean up other people’s messes.”

“I know you do.”

“I know you know I do,” Natasha sighed. She chewed on the edge of her lip, moving into the room, getting closer. The closer she got, the more it hurt and the harder it was to hold it all inside—everything he’d wanted to say and never got the chance. His heart didn’t care if it wasn’t his Natasha. Love wasn’t logical. He felt her witnessing his upset, which was hurting her now too. “What can I do? I don’t know what to do.”

He folded his arms over his chest, then raised his right hand to cover his mouth, looking right at her for the first time. His eyes prickled and he saw her falling, not for the thousandth time or the millionth. In some part of his soul, she would always be falling.

“You’re here,” he said on a gasp, forcing a smile, a few tears getting free. He wiped them away and averted his gaze, cleared his throat. “That’s all that matters.”

She retrieved and offered him a box of tissues. He grabbed a few and sat heavily on one of a few chairs along the wall, groaning as he covered his face. She sat right next to him, one hand on his back.

“If it helps, you can talk to me about this. About whatever you’ve been carrying around. You can even talk to me like I’m her if it’ll help. Sometimes we just need to release shit, before it eats us up.”

“No. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. Go on. I’m sure you know exactly what you want to say, too.”

“It’s not fair to you.”

“Yeah? Well, none of this has been fair to you either. I’m not going anywhere. Now, spill.”

At first he started slow, his words stilted, talking about surface level shit like his anger at the situation, his anger at her, at being left behind to once again clean up someone else’s mess. But the more he let out, the deeper he dug. His regrets, his pride in her, his reverence for her, his jealousy of her, and all of the details of his sincere wish that it had been him instead. Soon, he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. He talked until his voice got hoarse and he needed a drink of water. He got up to run some from the tap. When he walked back she was looking at him with an expression he would have recognized anywhere. 

“Please don’t say it,” he asked, knowing she’d ignore the request anyway.

“I’d do it again,” she told him. “For you.”

He waited for it to hurt, but it didn’t. Everything he’d released to her had opened up a space inside of him, and the heartache could finally breathe. 

“Yeah, well,” he warned. “Over my dead body.”

And he smiled.

*

Bucky fixed the tape wrapping his hand, his hair tied back so it’d stay out of his eyes. A tendril escaped as he heard the fitness center’s door swing open and shut. He braced himself for more awkwardness at the thought of having to interact with one of the alternate-Avengers, and didn’t even feel the slightest bit of relief when he saw it was Steve.

“Hey old man,” Steve calls, walking over. “Thought you were retired.”

He resented the familiarity, and was sure it showed.

“I am,” he replied, walking up to the punching bag. “Haven’t been to a gym in a long time. Thought it would help clear my head.”

“I don’t think that bag stands a chance,” Steve jokes, nodding to Bucky’s gleaming arm. “Someone gave you an upgrade.”

“Got it in Wakanda.”

Steve walked over and braced the bag for him, the twinkle of amusement in his face telling Bucky that Steve knew exactly what he was doing here. They might have been from different worlds but that didn’t mean the common history didn’t have impact.

He waited for Bucky to tell him to get the hell out. So Bucky stepped up and punched with his right. It was hard to get in a smooth rhythm when you were only hitting with one side, so his movements were choppy—stop and start.

“You look good,” Steve told him.

Bucky stopped, hands dropping to his sides. “What is this, huh?” 

Steve scrutinized him for a long moment. “I can apologize again if you want.” 

Bucky scoffed. “No thanks.” He shook his loose hair back, clenching his jaw as he met and allowed Steve’s stare. 

“You’re so different,” Steve said with some wonder. “ _Really_ different. I can barely see the soldier.”

“Good.” Bucky punched, huffed, did it again. “That’s what I was going for.”

He hit hard enough on the next swing to force Steve backward, the impact sliding his feet over the mat.

“Come on, Buck. Gimme a break here. I’m trying.”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I have a pretty good idea where you two are in the grand scheme of things, and I feel sorry for you. I have no regrets when it comes to you, Rogers. None. I broke up with _you_. I buried _you_. I _buried_ you, Steve. I fucking gave the eulogy at your funeral. And, Christ. Here you are again to get on my ass.” 

“The ghost of Christmas past.”

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

For a second, Bucky was pretty sure he was going to forego the bag entirely and aim for Steve’s smug smirk on his next punch. And Steve knew it. He just kept standing there smiling. Like Steve would. 

“Look, I get it,” Steve assured him, raising his palms and shoulders, lifting his eyebrows. “I get why you’re pissed at me. I get why you’re in here alone right now beating the shit out of a punching bag. I get why you don’t trust any of us yet. I get why you’re so protective of Clint. I get the whole thing. But I do know you, Buck, and all of this—” he gestured to Bucky, and the part of the building where Clint was, and the rest of the compound, “makes me so happy for you and proud of you. You have honestly no idea. Don’t you see?”

Bucky did not, in fact, see. So he waited and listened. 

“You did it. You got out. You went for what you wanted and held onto it. No one got in your way. No one took it from you. You don’t look like the soldier anymore. You look like a man in love trying to do right by the person he cares about more than anything in the world.” Steve waited for it to sink in. “You _won_ , Buck. You won the whole thing.”

Fists raised to his head, Bucky blew out a breath and turned his back. Then he faced him again and said, “This does not feel like winning. He nearly died a few weeks ago. We landed here instead of home, lost everyone we had left, after everything else we went through. There’s next to no chance we’ll ever see them again. And here you fucking are, Rogers, to make me feel guilty that I don’t feel better about it all and I’m not counting my blessings properly.”

Steve stepped out from behind the bag, as if inviting Bucky to hit him. “He didn’t die. He’s got access to the best doctors in the world. You have a full team of Avengers to work through your technical issues for you. You’ll want for nothing. And we’ll care about you from day one even if you didn’t have to earn it.” 

Bucky was quiet for a full minute. Then he breathed out a laugh, shook his head. “Captain fucking America, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Come on, you know you love it.”

He cracked a smile. A real one.

“Ha! Gotcha. There’s no resisting me now.”

He turned to go. 

Bucky tried to find a comeback and failed.

*

_1989, Canada_

For a couple of weeks, the sexual tension between them was consistently high, but Bucky kept making himself scarce. If Clint tried to start anything with him, Bucky either didn’t take the bait or would help Clint get off with minimal contact, in the quickest ways possible.

It messed with Clint’s head in a big way. So, eventually, he cornered Bucky before he took off one morning for god-knows-where, blocking the front door with his body by leaning against it—not that it would have been anything for Bucky to just pick him up and toss him aside.

“Hey you,” Clint started amicably. “Let’s talk.”

“Bout what?” Bucky asked, playing dumb, or so it seemed.

“Well, this,” he gestured between them. “I feel like there’s something I’m missing here. Why are you brushing me off?”

“I’m not—”

Clint interrupted with his take-no-shit expression alone. It spoke loudly to how well they’d gotten to know one another.

“Fine.” Bucky caved, dropping a sack of supplies with a heavy thud. He slid his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the banister of the stairs leading to their bedroom. “Let’s talk.” 

“If you’re not into it, just tell me,” Clint said bluntly. “Please. Tell me right now. I’ll leave you alone. You know, as much as possible given we’re the only ones here. But I’ll at least stop expecting it, or hoping for it, or trying to throw myself at you.”

He’d gotten to know Bucky’s cadre of expressions pretty damn well, but he couldn’t figure out the one facing him now at all. He seemed pissed off, horny, and exhausted at the same time, mixed with something even harder to pin down.

“I’m into it,” Bucky told him.

“Well. Could’a fooled me.”

“Clint,” Bucky sighed, dropping his gaze to his boots. “I’m not going to fill in this blank for you. You need to figure it out on your own.”

“What blank?”

“The reason why it hasn’t happened. Why I keep brushing you off. Why I’ve had blue balls basically twenty-four-seven since the moment we got here. It’s not a me thing. It’s a you thing.”

“A you thing,” Clint echoed. They stood there in silence for a while. He wracked his brain for ideas. “Am I just not going about this the right way?” 

“Dig deeper.” 

“Dig deeper,” he echoed again. “You’re channeling peak sex sensei right now, you know.” 

Bucky reached for the discarded sack of supplies and hefted it back over his shoulder. There was a fishing rod and some nets visible in there, which meant he was likely headed for one of the lakes.

“Whoa, wait. Give me more than that,” Clint begged, stepping in his way again, hand on Bucky’s chest. Bucky glanced down at the contact and took a deep breath, accusing Clint wordlessly of tormenting him. 

“Dig into your motivations.”

Clint squinted. “Dig—”

“I’m going. I’ll be back,” Bucky insisted, easily dodging Clint’s final attempt at a human roadblock and slipping outside.

“Come on!” Clint wailed at his back. 

“It won’t change until you can see it for yourself,” Bucky called back. Then he waved without turning. Clint flipped him off.

He wasn’t proud to admit it took him three more days to figure it out. And Bucky wouldn’t come near him until he did, even sleeping in a chair across the room instead of in the bed.

It came to Clint in the shower, while he was jerking off. When he realized what he was fantasizing about. And why.

Cursing himself, he got washed off, barely bothered to dry off and came out in only a towel. Bucky was in the kitchen downstairs, making coffee.

“I want you to punish me,” Clint said to his back.

Bucky sagged in relief like he’d dropped a van he’d been carrying on his back, bracing himself against the counter and hanging his head. “Thank god.”

He turned and made eye contact with effort, after scanning Clint’s naked body only bearing the towel wrapping his hips to keep him modest. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint apologized. “I came here to unfuck myself and have been trying to use you to, like, re-fuck myself, and that’s not fair, and it makes sense now why you’d put on the brakes.” 

“I refuse to hurt you that way,” Bucky told him. “It will never happen. I’d sooner stay here the rest of my life in celibacy. So far, I’ve tried to keep it sweet between us, but you keep pushing and I knew where you wanted it to go. I’m not that guy. Not for you or anyone else.”

“I know,” Clint admitted. He groaned. “I left my wife to come here, because she was too good for me anymore. I came here with you because I hoped you’d… I don’t know. Do bad things. It’d be easy. I stand no chance against you. I could just not tell you if something hurt, swallow the pain and ask for more. And that’s not fair to you. At all.”

Bucky gazed longingly at him, like he’d been trying so hard to stay away, and maybe now he finally didn’t have to anymore. But he doubted himself, or Clint, or both. Rubbing his human hand over his mouth, he kept looking somewhere around Clint’s mid-section, debating internally. Then, he blurted, “Fuck it,” and came over. Folding Clint into a hug, they both groaned. Clint’s feet lifted off the ground and Bucky took a couple steps back to lean against the counter, not letting go. The cool metal arm against his warm bare back gave Clint pleasant goosebumps. He felt Bucky kiss the top of his head. “Proud of you.”

“Yeah, me too, I guess.” He reached down inside himself, knocking some leftover pride askew. “Thank you for holding out. I feel really awful about it.”

“Hey, um, favor?” Bucky gently set him back onto the floor.

“Anything.”  
  
“I’m really gonna need you to go put some clothes on.”

Clint broke into a helpless smile and pulled back. Bucky’s gaze skimmed down the front of him, over all of the scars on his chest and abs, then wrenched his gaze up to the ceiling with effort, holding it there. 

Leaning in, Clint let his parted lips drag over the side of Bucky’s neck, gently palmed his cock through his jeans. “Come on, I’ll make it really sweet. Promise,” Clint said as softly as he could.

Bucky growled and stopped touching him, lifting his arms, palms out like he was surrendering.

Clint went to his knees.

“I swear to—” he growled again, loudly.

Clint quickly got Bucky’s fly opened, eased him free and licked up his shaft with a heavy moan before closing his lips greedily around the head and sucking.

Both of Bucky’s hands slammed down on the counter at his sides hard enough to shake the whole house. He took a deep, shuddering inhale, held it, then blew it slowly and unsteadily out as Clint hollowed his cheeks and gave Bucky everything he had, taking him deep into his throat, swallowing the taste of him with desperate begging grunts, wrapping him with his tongue. Clint had no idea yet how the supersoldier thing affected Bucky’s ability to feel sensation or his stamina, but Clint was more than happy to go overboard as an experiment.

After only a few seconds of this, Bucky’s stomach and thighs clenched, his knees almost buckling. Then Bucky begged, “I can’t…” his voice breaking and breathy and it was the single fucking hottest thing Clint had ever heard in his life. It was a long-sought glimpse into who Bucky was deep down inside, past the muscle and metal, past the trauma and war. In that moment, Clint realized all he wanted until his dying day was more of that part of Bucky. As much as he could get.

He cupped Bucky’s sac, played with him gently and hummed with pleasure as he took another long, hungry pull with his mouth. His control finally slipping, Bucky thrust just a little, rocking counter to Clint’s movements, but he did it trembling. Wrapping his free hand around Bucky’s root, Clint went at it faster, and faster. He gasped through his nose, felt saliva dripping from his chin, his eyes tearing up just a little, but he kept it pretty shallow and safe. 

Bucky’s body strung tight, hips giving tight, frantic snaps forward. There was a sharp, cracking, splintering sound that Clint would later discover was handfuls of the wood-slab countertop disintegrating inside Bucky’s fists. 

With a whimpering gasp, head fallen back, human hand so-tenderly brushing through the back of Clint’s hair, Bucky unloaded down his throat in a hot flood. Clint licked and stroked him until he was spent, panting against Bucky’s inner hip, “More…”

For three whole seconds, everything was still and calm. 

Then, it wasn’t. Because Bucky had way-too-easily crouched and grabbed Clint, throwing him over a shoulder like a fucking caveman with his conquest, and rushed them upstairs with long, impatient strides to the bed. Then Clint was lying back on it, the towel was pulled away, a drawer was yanked open hard enough to send several things skittering around the floor, and Bucky was on his knees at the edge of the bed. With his metal arm held dutifully and intentionally behind his back, like he didn’t dare touch Clint with it, Bucky guided him to his mouth, then twisted two lube-slick fingers gently through Clint’s hole.

“Oh _fuck_ … Okay… This is happening…” His voice climbed then shattered on a cry as Bucky reached deeper and gave Clint the kind of suction he was sure would kill him—but what a way to go.

Slowly pumping his fingers, working Clint loose after so very, very long, Bucky gave him a few pauses to adjust but made it clear where this was going. On his part, Clint couldn’t fucking shut up. He felt like a virgin and sounded like he was being murdered. Wordless begging, lots of struggling to breathe, muffled shouting against his hands as he pressed them against his face. There was even some enthusiastic praying thrown in. His heels dug into Bucky’s back hard enough to hurt and Clint wondered if Bucky could even feel it.

Bucky’s lips and the inside of his mouth were so soft, the muscle of his tongue so strong, plus the sight of him like that—with Clint’s dark, thick cock sliding in and out between his stretched lips, his cheeks concave, his eyes peacefully closed with thick, long eyelashes fanned out against his pale skin, his dark brown hair fallen in a curtain over his right eye, the other side tucked behind his ear—was really unfair. He couldn’t process that Bucky was inside him, and he was inside Bucky. Bucky that he’d fantasized about since… forever. Since he’d seen pictures of his roguishly handsome face in photos in the Steve Rogers Museum when he was just a horny kid. 

As much as he was coming apart due to the blowjob to end all, he couldn’t stop focusing on the fingers prying at him. They skillfully brushed over his gland on each stroke to speed his impending doom. It was so fucking intimate. He hadn’t had a man stick anything inside him other than the rogue blade during battle since he was a teenager. To be so made profoundly vulnerable by someone as intimidating as Bucky was both terrifying and exhilarating. Holding onto the trust they’d developed so far like a drowning man thrown a life raft, he told himself he’d get through it. An emotional tangle unknotted inside him and hope flowed into the space created. Real hope. Hope that things might have been starting to make sense again. Hope that instead of just endlessly giving pieces of himself away, he was finally getting something in exchange. Hope that it wasn’t all for nothing. 

He choked and shuddered on the barrage of stimulation, mouth working soundlessly as he writhed.

His eyes burned and he blinked them clear, but then had to abandon sentimentality as Bucky swallowed him to the root and held there, moaning. The vibrations shivered up into him. Bucky’s throat contracted around Clint as he kept swallowing. Clint’s hands flew to Bucky’s long hair and he begged with embarrassing desperation, “Oh fuck please god,” as he climaxed. His hips rolled uselessly as he strained and kept trying to push deeper somehow, his nerve endings firing everywhere, even blacking out some of his vision.

As soon as the first wave passed and he went boneless, all muscles relaxing, a third finger pressed in through his rim.

He gave a startled, panicked shout, spreading his thighs more widely apart like that was going to help.

“Pain?” Bucky asked. They locked eyes. His pupils were blown wide with lust, his voice rough and primal.

“No, it’s just a lot…” Clint winced, trying to laugh.

“Tell me if there’s pain.”

He pressed farther in and Clint’s mouth fell open on a chest-deep groan, his back arching as he momentarily clenched around the fingers. He still had one hand in Bucky’s long hair, holding on. The other reached for a handful of the bed, like that could steady or save him. 

The fingers all pulled out. Bucky added more lube to them, briefly engaging the metal arm before putting it against his lower back again. Then he very slowly watched Clint take the three fingers a second time, giving him the full length of them before holding them still in there. 

Clint swallowed a hard grunt, trying and failing to stay still as the ache spread.

“Please,” Clint pleaded, shameless.

“Breathe.”

“Can’t.”

“Can.” He sank slightly back and licked at Clint’s rim. “Breathe.” 

Clint nearly flew off the bed, gasping. 

“See?” Bucky said, like a smart-ass. 

Clint was shaking everywhere. Bearing down didn’t help. Angling his hips to adjust the angle or escape the fingers did nothing. 

“Please,” Clint sobbed.

“Just breathe.” 

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“How many years has it been? Hmm?”

“A lot,” he croaked.

“Well…”

He tried to choke back another sob, some panic beginning to rise from way down inside at the insane thought that Bucky would never stop, or move, or let him go. As if sensing it, Bucky crawled onto the bed, bracing himself with the vibranium arm as he hunched over Clint, his fingers still completely buried and unmoving. 

He chased Clint’s gasps with his lips, then licked into him, hungry and moaning. He growled by Clint’s ear, “If you weren’t so fucking tight…”

Clint writhed, humming, frowning. “You know, this feels like punishment,” he hissed.

“Well, you should be enjoying it then, huh?”

“I’ll still fucking kill you.”

The fingers began to withdraw and Clint shuddered hard with a wild cry, his hands scrambling against Bucky’s skin, his scratches not leaving marks.

Bucky pressed back in and Clint’s breath caught. Pushed past words, he could only bear it and beg with his cries.

“Come on,” Bucky coaxed. “You want this? My cock’s as strong as the rest of me. You know that. You need to relax. You need to trust me.”

He pulled completely out, his face inches from Clint’s. Lightly, he rubbed over his rim with his fingertips.

“Tell me when.” 

Clint made himself take three deep breaths, in and out, then grunted, “Okay go.”

Bucky licked into his mouth as he finger-fucked him a few more times. Clint felt it easing, just a little. He made himself trust completely in Bucky, no matter what happened, knowing he chose it, and it eased even more. As soon as he started to hump Bucky’s fingers instead of fight them, they pulled out of him. Bucky laid down on top of him, positioned between Clint’s legs, hooking Clint’s knees over his shoulders, and lined up to enter him.

It happened fast enough that the head was inside by the time Clint realized what was going on. It felt like a hot steel rod, not flesh at all, and for the first time he really, truly understood. Terrified and not in a fun way, he forced himself to stay relaxed and open, to let Bucky do all the work.

Bucky’s eyes rolled. He was panting, trembling as he went as slow as possible, moving deeper with shallow pushes. It felt like several days passed before he was fully sheathed.

“Have I mentioned my stamina?” Bucky gasped, smirking. 

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” Clint cursed. 

It was almost literally endless. He used plenty of lube and went slow. Slow enough that Clint’s impatience and newly discovered love of taking cock made him hard again. Slow enough that he tried moving counter to Bucky’s thrusts to urge him on, urge him faster. Bucky just scolded him with a clipped, “Stop. Just lay there.” 

Bucky fisted Clint’s erection, lazily pumping it until he whimpered and came his second time. And there was no sign of Bucky stopping yet.

“What have I done?” Clint asked the gods and the universe in general. Changing tactics, he clenched his ass as tight as he could and twisted one of Bucky’s nipples.

Sucking in a harsh breath, shivering, hips snapping in a harder thrust, Bucky finally came. Gripping the bed instead of Clint, the only place they touched was where it counted as Bucky made more of those sweetly, intoxicatingly plaintive cries. Clint kissed him, caressing his face, undone by the slight frown and quivering lip.

Bucky slid free and Clint wound himself around him. Keeping his metal arm bent, Bucky wouldn’t lay down completely on top of him, but he was close. His face hid against Clint’s shoulder and Clint ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Come dripped from Clint’s ass—a brand new sensation for him.

“Guess I’m gonna have to get used to that,” Clint sighed. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

Keeping his face hidden, Bucky murmured, “Well, you’re eventually gonna need food. Unless I just wear you like a necklace and carry you downstairs again.”

“I mean it, Buck,” Clint said quietly, his sincerity cutting through.

Bucky lifted his head. His expression was bare, exposed, beautiful in its heart-stopping hope. Clint caught him in a soft kiss and savored it like it was their final moments. Like it was all ending and this was all that mattered.

*

Clint’s inability to walk for a full day or two after sex was a legitimate problem they were able to troubleshoot thanks to Bucky’s ability to carry him around with one arm and hardly any effort, along with the demolition of the last few boundaries of privacy remaining between them.

This led to a lot of lounging around and talking, when Bucky wasn’t working to get them both fed and the house cleaned and in order. One late night in bed, with Clint lying one way and Bucky the other, they watched each other. 

“So, why are you attracted to me?” Clint asked with honest curiosity.

Bucky gave him a helpless, amused smile and an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“No, I’m serious,” Clint insisted. “Beyond the breakable and not-a-heartless-asshole stuff.”

Letting out a breath, Bucky rolled onto his back and pressed his lips together thoughtfully before turning his head to look at Clint as he answered, “I don’t hate your uniform. Sleeveless. All those straps wrapping you, your thighs and legs. You look amazing in jeans and a t-shirt, especially when they’re too small.” 

Clint protested, “It’s not like I have an endless selection here, plus we’re at the mercy of 80s fashion.”

“I’m not complaining.” After a thoughtful pause and a scrutinizing glance that forced Clint to avert his eyes, he added, “You’re rugged and adorable at the same time. How about you?”

“Oh, come on,” Clint scoffed, feeling a blush rise and hating it.

“You literally can’t stand up right now, let alone leave. I’ve got all night.” 

“Are you saying I’m your captive?”

Bucky shrugged, playing innocent.

“Oh, you know you love it. The power of your massive cock once more cripples one of the Avengers.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re not supposed to notice that.”

Bucky rolled back onto his side, head braced on a hand. Clint rolled onto his side too, facing him, and decided just to own it. He counted them off on his fingers.

“Well, your eyes are to _die_ for. Especially when you were doing the guyliner and greasepaint thing. You’re like a hot, sad puppy when you’re serious or fighting, and you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen when you’re happy. I’m obsessed with your hair, especially now that you’ve got access to some good conditioner. I’ve been jerking off to photos of you in uniform literally since my first erection.” Opening his last finger, he added, “I dig the growly, brooding thing, especially when you’re naked and/or horny.”

Bucky blinked at him, suppressing a smile. “Wow. Go on.”

“I don’t think you want that. I’m likely to start calling you Daddy or licking your metal arm.”

“Really? Go on.”

Clint grabbed a pillow and swatted him with it. Unfazed, Bucky just shook his hair back into place.

“Tell me more about the Daddy thing.”

“No. Next question,” Clint said, moving on. “Tell me something kinky you’ve done. Something you’ve never confessed before. Something that would shock me.”

“Well, I’ve never had a guy I’m fucking call me Daddy.”

“You’re really stuck on that, huh?”

Bucky sighed and grew introspective. He bit at his lip like he was shy or something. Playing with a frayed edge of the sheet, he let out a groan. “Okay. You really want to know this?”

“Hell yes, bitch.” 

Bucky licked his lip wet, clearly struggling internally.

“Just say it.”

“Fine. I used the vibranium fingers to stretch Steve for sex.”

Clint was chuckling giddily before he could stop himself. “Oh my god,” he blinked. “His ass is really that indestructible?”

“You have no idea,” Bucky confided. “Why do you think I went so slow with you? All I’m used to is _that_.”

“Captain America taking metal fingers. Seems uncomfortable.”

“He loved it.”

The laugh burst out. “Wow. Really?" 

Bucky raised one eyebrow at him.

“God, I can picture it. He probably took it as a weird personal challenge.”

“That’s a way to say it.”

Clint shook his head. “Damn. Thank you for the gift of these mental images.”

“Your turn,” Bucky said quietly, with barely concealed amusement. “Tell me something.” He propped his chin on his hand and waited.

Something rose to the surface of Clint’s memory right away. It made some of his levity die. “Shit.”

Bucky was patient, but Clint felt how there was no getting out of this now. He had a confession to make.

“That bad, huh?” Bucky guessed.

“Okay,” Clint winced on a sigh. He couldn’t maintain eye contact. “I’ve sucked Tony Stark’s cock.”

Bucky scoffed. But then slowly he realized it wasn’t a joke. He shifted to fully sit up and faced Clint. Then he stood up and started to pace.

“Fuck,” Clint breathed. He rolled onto his stomach and covered his head with his hands.

After a full minute, Bucky stopped, hand on his hip. “Okay: why, when, and how.”

“Buck…”

“Mm-mm,” he grunted, shaking his head.

“It’s not funny or pretty,” Clint warned.

“Still waiting.”

“Okay. I guess this is happening.”

Clint picked at his fingers, eyes downcast and said, “We were both really drunk. It was when Steve and him were butting heads over you. The Avengers were torn in half. Everyone was on edge. Tony was… pissed. I was frustrated. And drunk.” 

“You mentioned that.” 

Clint fell on his back, addressing the ceiling. “I pulled a knife on him, okay?”

“…excuse me?”

“I held it to his throat, pinned him to a wall, and…” he sighed. “Grabbed his cock through his pants. Told him I’d help get it out of his system so he’d fucking calm down. But he’s… you know. Iron Man. He disarmed me. Held his arm across my throat and asked what the fuck was wrong with me. He was cutting off my air, but... you know. Drunk. I wasn’t struggling but I was getting dizzy, trying to gasp, pulling on his arm. Then he realized…” he words trailed off. He had to work to pick up the thread, his face flushed hot with shame. “He realized I was pulling his arm toward me and not off of me. And he realized… that I was hard. And he was hard. And he still didn’t let go right away. He just kind of watched me suffocating. Then he got free of my grip and pulled the arm off of me. I collapsed at his feet, gulping air. Everything was spinning. God, my throat hurt.”

Clint paused again. He could feel emotion coming off of Bucky in waves.

“I just did it. I opened his pants and started sucking him. He was leaning over me and against the wall, and… he held the back of my head with one hand and fucked my throat, letting me choke on him until I fought back.” 

Silence.

“We never talked about it, after,” Clint added in a murmur.

Bucky’s head was fallen back. He paced again, wrapping his fist in his hair. He stopped and faced the bed. “If he was alive, I’d kill him. I’d fucking…” 

“Yeah,” Clint exhaled. “Not his fault.”

“It sure as hell isn’t yours!” Bucky roared.

Clint lay still, feeling his heart lodge in his throat, wetness pricking his eyes.

Bucky shouted furiously, “Fuck!”

Hey left the room, stomped down the stairs. The front door slammed against the wall and Clint heard a more-distant bellow of rage from outside. Something out there crashed. Then something else crashed. 

“Yeah, he’ll get over it,” Clint decided. “It’ll be fine.”

Eventually, Bucky stormed back inside, leaning furiously in the doorway with his arm braced against the frame, his eyes wild. Clint laid there silently, battling his horrifying shame. He wiped at the corner of his eye with his thumb and couldn’t look at Bucky.

“Tell me,” Bucky demanded, “you know you didn’t ask for that. That you didn’t have it coming. Please.”

Clint bit down on his tongue and smoothed the front of his shirt.

“Look at me,” Bucky snarled.

He wrenched his gaze over somehow. There was a full beat, during which Clint felt like his heart was being torn from his chest. “You want me to lie? I don’t wanna lie to you.”

Bucky’s chest heaved, his teeth grinding.

“We can do this, if you want,” Clint offered. He wiped at his eyes. “A little you show me yours, I’ll show you mine. Drag all of the vile shit out into the light. That what you want, Buck?” He heard the wooden doorframe begin to splinter. “You think that’s the worst thing I’ve let someone do to me?”

There was a choked, hurt sound and then he was gone again. Clint tracked him by sound for a while, then just laid there alone in silence.

Hours later, the bed shifted, Bucky pulled him against him, facing him. Clint was curled into a ball and was gladly swallowed by Bucky’s unnatural strength. He held him tightly.

“Bet you wish you didn’t care,” Clint challenged. 

Bucky deflated at that, caressed Clint’s back, tucking their bodies even closer together, as close as he could get, like if he just stayed that way, nothing could ever get to Clint again.

“Never,” Bucky rasped.

*


	5. Chapter 5

_2019, Avengers Compound_

They’d been there for almost a week. They’d been around the alternate Avengers for days. Bucky had tried to push past the thing that wouldn’t let him go, but he knew it was preventing him from trusting this Tony. If they were really stuck there, or if they were going to ask Tony to help get them home, there was one thing that had to be addressed. Bucky wandered past an open doorway in Avengers basecamp, saw Tony and Steve alone. They were seated at a table, holding coffee mugs. A 3D projection rotated slowly in the air above the table in front of them. 

Coming to an abrupt halt, Bucky told himself to keep going, to let it go again and push it away.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it.

Clint would forgive him.

Conversation halted, they watched as he spun on a heel and strode swiftly up to their table, pulled out the chair directly across from Tony, and sat heavily. He folded his hands in front of his mouth, his entire body tense, his jaw aching as he clenched it hard enough to break (normal) teeth. 

“Hey. Bucky 2. Something on your mind?” Tony asked. “We were actually just reviewing strategy for the test sequences of the machine. We have a few ideas lined up that I’d like to run past you and Clint.”

Steve was quiet. Bucky felt keenly observed. Judged. He knew they saw him through the lens of who they understood his doppelganger to be, and that guy was in deep freeze on another continent for as-yet-unknown reasons. Not exactly promising.

After a few deep breaths, he lowered his hands, his gaze boring holes in Tony. Another Tony.

“I, uh,” Bucky started, pulling the words out like they’d been dried in cement. “I appreciate your follow-through on the tests for Clint, and that you’re willing to help us figure things out. Willing to host us here until we can find our footing.” 

“And yet, I sense that’s not what you’re here to talk about,” Tony said with a light smile that was all surface, no substance.

Bucky focused only on Tony, ignoring Steve, ignoring everything else.

“We answered your questions about our timeline. All of your questions.”

“And we appreciate that you did. It should help us to distinguish any discrepancies that might—”

Bucky stopped him with a hand. “I just have one question.”

Tony sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Buck…” Steve started. Bucky held up a finger.

He asked with feigned lightness, “About six or seven years ago, did you ever have a… private encounter with Clint? _Your_ Clint? Involving a knife and some forced asphyxiation?” He stopped and appeared to reconsider. “Actually, a lot of forced asphyxiation.”

Tony cleared his throat, dropped his gaze.

Bucky laughed humorlessly, his head falling back on his shoulders, his hands balling into fists. 

Then he noted Steve’s curious silence, and looked at him.

Steve did not at all look surprised by this revelation. Which was fascinating enough to stop Bucky cold.

“You know,” he said to Steve, “this is the part where you jump in with your stoic moral code and demand some answers.”

“You have to tell him,” Steve said to Tony.

Bucky blinked in surprise and simmering rage. “Tell me?”

Tony, exasperated with Steve, glared incredulously at him. “Rogers, have you lost your mind?”

“Our Clint is not your Clint,” Steve explained to Bucky.

“I know that. I’m not an idiot.” 

“Then what’s the purpose of this?”

“To make sure ‘my’ Clint is safe here. To get a clearer picture of the man—” he turned his head to capture Steve in his gaze, then corrected, “Men—I’m trusting with our safety.”

“No one will ever hurt _either_ Clint, if we have anything to say about it,” Tony swore. “Ever. These people are my family. I love them and would die to protect any of them.”

“Did. Not would.”

“You think he’s lying?” Steve asked Bucky, nodding to Tony. 

Bucky considered him, his body language, his tone. “No,” he concluded. “He’s not.”

Silence drew out.

“What does Steve want you to tell me? That you care about your Clint?” Bucky asked.

“Of course I care about Clint,” Tony scoffed.

Steve shifted in his chair, turning to face Bucky more directly. “There have been… threesomes. Between me and Tony and…”

Tony blew out an exasperated breath, tapping his mug on the table. “Un-fucking-believable. We _swore_ to him we’d keep that private. If Laura ever found out—”

“We’re way past that, Tony,” Steve cut in. “And you know it.”

“Wow. Plural,” Bucky said levelly. “That’s… Why?” 

From behind Bucky came, “I can tell you why.”

Bucky turned. Clint stood there, resigned.

He walked forward, approaching the table but keeping to his feet, hands shoved deep inside his pockets.

“Think about it,” he invited. “They both like to be the one who decides how things are gonna go. Addicted to control. They love to win, hate giving in to someone else’s convictions. The two of them together? There’s no balance. It doesn’t work. But you add a deeply closeted third who’s got no powers or influence whatsoever… who’s not above begging or giving in to people he trusts, even if it hurts, and…” He gestured openly with a wave of his hand.

Bucky looked from Clint, to Tony, to Steve. “Tell me he’s wrong,” he beseeched. “Please. Tell me that’s not who you are when I’m not here to help keep you in line.”

Steve hung his head.

Clint continued, “I think there’s a reason their Clint is up in space, and not away with Laura and kids. I think he’s been trying to escape things too. Not so different after all, I guess.”

Bucky stood, turned his back, shoulders hunched.

“Being in the business of saving people doesn’t mean we’re flawless,” Tony said to him. “You know that. No one here is above reproach. That doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” Bucky asked.

“Clint 2,” Tony piped up good-naturedly. “Do you trust us? Enough to stay here and have us try to send you home? Enough to know we would never touch you, or harm a hair on your head?”

Bucky glanced over a shoulder, saw Clint nod. “Yeah. I do.”

Tony gestured at him with a hand.

“We would never hurt him, Bucky,” Steve said. “Or our Clint. That’s the point. We care about him. And it’s mutual. He gets his freedom. He’s always had that. But we’re here if he needs us.”

Bucky pushed a hand through his hair, spared a last look at Clint, and walked out.

He heard Clint ask them, “Give him some time, okay?” then his footsteps quickened, following along and falling in behind.

*

They were only just returning from a six-mile-long walk to ‘get some air’ and temporarily get out of the compound when they saw Iron Man and War Machine take off together, the lights from their propulsion systems streaking through the sky like weird comets. A moment later, a jet took off from the hangar bay, following after them with an ear-splitting crack as they broke the sound barrier.

“Shit. What’s happening?” Clint groaned, taking off at a run. He slowed to a stop once he realized he had no idea where he was running to, and had no way of getting in touch with any of the alternate Avengers. 

“Hangar bay?” Bucky suggested.

“Sure. Why not.”

To no one’s surprise, Bucky beat him there. He stood with Bruce in a hallway leading to the labs.

“Hey, there he is,” Bruce smiled. “Nothing to worry about. Stephen Strange called for some back-up down at his residence on Bleeker Street. Wanda and Vision were closest but Tony, Rhodey, Nat, and Steve went along too. Some sort of magical tentacle monster made completely out of eyes came through one of his closet doors and got loose in the neighborhood. Wish I was joking.” He shivered in revulsion. 

“So Hulk opted out or they made you the babysitter?”

“Aw, come on. Babysitter?” Bruce scoffed.

“Like they’d leave us alone at the compound, no matter how much they say they trust us.”

“Scott and I are running tests on the quantum-travel machine,” Bruce explained, cocking a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re gonna brief you both on our strategy in the morning, hopefully have some news for you.” 

“So C, all of the above then?”

Bruce breathed out a laugh. “Something like that.” He seemed to remember something and reached into his back pocket. “Oh! Here. I almost forgot. These are for you.” He handed each of them a sleek Stark phone, a piece of tape across the back of each with their name and a passcode to unlock it.

“What’s this?” Bucky asked.

“Telephone,” Clint explained.

“I know it’s a telephone. Why are you giving them to us?”

“So we have a way to reach you, no matter where you are. Please keep them with you at all times. And here, these are for you also.” Bruce handed over a set of all-black credit cards.

“What’s the interest rate on these babies?” Clint asked, turning it over to read the information printed on the back. It didn’t have his name, it just read THE AVENGERS below the card number.

“The bills don’t go to you. Get whatever you need, just don’t go and buy an island without permission or anything. You can get almost anything delivered here. If there’s anything else you need, just let one of us know. These seemed like good first steps.”

“Thanks, Bruce.” 

Bruce gestured back to the lab, beginning to retrace his steps. “I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah, go. Thanks.”

Clint and Bucky looked at each other as they listened to Bruce yell something to Scott before disappearing behind a door.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Clint asked.

“Pizza?”

“Absolutely pizza.”

They met the delivery guy out front and just sat on the front steps to eat it, enjoying the sunset and watching for any incoming superheroes. 

“Would you? Ever?” Clint asked after taking a swig of a bottle of cold beer.

“Would I what?” Bucky countered.

“You know. Steve and Tony.”

“Oh god,” Bucky said with a sour face, reaching for another slice of sausage and pineapple. “Not in a million years.”

“So who’s the top? Tony?” 

“Steve switches, so who knows.” 

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Have you…”

“Bottomed? Sure. Why, you interested?”

“I’m not _not_ interested. I might just need to borrow your arm or ask for some assistance there.”

Bucky squinted at him and drank some of his own beer. “I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”

Clint smiled.

Bucky lowered his gaze, asking, “Would _you_?”

“Would I what?”

“Steve and Tony.”

At first, Clint didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know what the flare of anger he felt meant. “That’s not fair.”

“No judgment. I’m just curious,” Bucky told him. He looked sincere, and not nearly as angry as he’d been, though their furious make-out session up against a tree in the woods behind the compound might have had something to do with that. 

“Now? No way,” Clint told him. “A few years ago, when I was completely self-destructive? Sure. But the idea of it makes me sick to my stomach. I can imagine how it would play out, and it’s not something I’d ever be proud of. There are reasons Clint asked them to keep it a secret, and they have nothing to do with being closeted.”

“Is it gonna be weird for you now? That they know you know and vice versa?”

Clint searched the horizon for activity, seeing nothing but clouds. “Maybe a little. But like I said, Tony and I never talked about the other thing. It never got in the way of the job. He never treated me any differently for it.” 

“That can’t be true.” 

Clint shrugged, picking the pineapple off a slice before taking it. “Sometimes I’d think I saw something in the way he’d look at me, when he thought I wasn’t aware of it, but he’s got the attention span of a gnat, so who knows? Could have imagined it. It’s not Tony I’m concerned with, to be painfully honest.”

Bucky sighed. “It just means he has extra incentive to be protective of you now, even if it doesn’t make logical sense. And I don’t hate that part. He’s a good guy to have in your corner. If anything, he’d have protected you from Tony’s baser instincts.” 

Clint doubted that, but then again, Bucky knew Steve better than anyone.

They both fell quiet while eating. 

Then Clint asked, “So you’re telling me you’re _not_ gonna punch him in the face?” 

“Oh, that still might happen,” Bucky assured him.  
  
“Gotcha.”

Bucky stood, collecting their empties. “You want another?” 

“Might as well. Thanks.” 

“Okay. Two minutes,” he said, heading inside with the bottles. 

The door swung shut behind him. Exactly two minutes later, it opened again.

Clint laughed, opening his mouth to make a smart-ass comment, but stopped cold when he heard, “Ah, there I am. Knew I’d find me around here somewhere.”

Goosebumps raised all over his body. He’d frozen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d instinctively frozen when faced with something overwhelming. Since he was a kid, he’d been fight over flight or freeze. He hadn’t even thought himself capable of the reaction. And yet… 

He sat still as Clint sat down beside him.

“Oh sweet, pizza. Wait. Why the fuck is there pineapple on this?” Slowly, his head turned to watch himself pick pineapple from the pizza.

There were so many questions. The one that came out first was, “Why would you sneak up on me like that?”

Clint 1 shrugged, taking a large bite. “Is there a better way to approach yourself? You knew this was coming. You came here, not me.”

“Where did you even come from?” 

“Shuttle,” he pointed, back in the opposite direction, behind the building. He moaned at the taste of the pizza and closed his eyes. “God, the food sucks on that ship.”

“Isn’t this weird for you?” 

“Weird?” he laughed. “I just came from a month-long trip with Peter Quill, Gamora, Groot, Rocket, and Drax. You’re a much better alternative.”

“That bad?”  
  
“Worse.” 

“Then why’d you go?”

“They needed a human envoy to negotiate peace on a planet named Rghut that’s populated by these hyper intelligent hermit crab guys, who for whatever reason are very impressed by humans. They insisted Quill didn’t count because he’s half alien. And I just needed to…” he sighed. “Get away for a while. So I volunteered. It was between me and Sam. They thought he might have killed Quill to be cooped up with him that long.”

He let himself stare. His old haircut. A different scar along his jaw. No tattoos. There was a little more meat on his bones, probably just due to not having been deathly ill recently.

Clint 1 met the stare, then reached up to play with Clint 2’s mohawk. He dodged the touch, frowning at himself. “Hmm. Doesn’t look bad.”

“Thanks?”

Clint 1 grabbed hold of Clint 2’s wrist, turning his arm to look at the ink scrawled up to his shoulder.

“Can you not touch me, please?” 

He let go and sat back a little to look him over. “I saw the report.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

“Well, too late now.” There was a long pause. “Why Bucky?” 

“Seriously? Have you seen him? It’s not hard to figure out.” 

“I haven’t interacted with him much. No one but Steve has ever really gotten close, so he’s a bit of a mystery. Sordid history, to say the least.”

“Yeah, well, my Bucky is different. He’s been through a lot. Fought to save the world with the rest of us. Stuck around after for the clean-up. Stuck with me.”

“And Laura?”

Clint sighed. “It’s complicated. I don’t even know if I’ll see her again. Those five years aren’t something she would ever understand or agree with.”

“But he does?” 

“I know about Tony and Steve.”

He watched himself pale, instantly shaken. Guilty. Ashamed.

“So, you never…?” Clint 1 asked, finishing the slice and tossing the pizza crust back into the box.

“Not like that. Just the one time with Tony and the knife, but I regret that. Never with Steve. I can’t even imagine it, honestly.” He let out a heavy exhale. “Look, you should know, Bucky was upset when he found out about you and them. He’s convinced they took advantage.”

Clint 1 laughed, his expression sickly, and ran a hand over his face. “It’s none of his business. Or yours.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it still going on?”

Clint 1 gave him a look.

Clint 2 nodded in understanding. “Okay. Does it get weird?” 

“They get…” he exhaled. “Protective.”

“I bet.”

“It’s not about feelings. We’re not in a relationship. It’s just sex.”

“Is it?”

Clint 1 wouldn’t look at him.

Behind them, the door opened. Clint 2 braced himself.

Bucky slowly walked forward, moving to stand beside Clint 2, handing him a beer. “Everything okay?” he asked, eyes fixed to Clint 1.

“Yeah,” Clint 2 replied. “We’re okay. Did you know?”

“Saw the shuttle taking off. Thought I’d give you two a minute.”

Clint 2 nodded.

From his peripheral vision, he saw Clint 1 watching him and Bucky, both, trying to figure it out.

“What if you can’t get back?” he asked.

Clint 2 hung his head, raking his fingers back over his scalp. Bucky shifted closer. Clint 2 reached out and wrapped a hand behind Bucky’s ankle, just to feel him.

“I don’t know. We don’t know. We’re taking it a step at a time.” He lifted his head, grabbed and opened the beer with a flick of his thumb, took a drink. “We’re not trying to interfere, or be a burden on anyone.” 

“I didn’t say you were.”

Clint 1 cleared his throat. “Can you please just not say anything to anyone? Especially Laura? About me and…”

“Of course.”

Bucky finally spoke up, saying to Clint 1, “You deserve better.”

Clint 1 stared up at him, the moment drawing out. “You don’t know what I deserve.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Clint 1 looked over at himself, but Clint 2 just shrugged and took another sip.

“Just what I need—another tough guy telling me what I deserve. Like you know so much?”

“No. But I do know you.” 

“And I don’t know you at all.”

Clint gathered the pizza boxes and stood with them. He grabbed the front of Bucky’s t-shirt and pulled him in for a soft kiss. “Love you.”

“Tired?” Bucky whispered, hooking a finger under his chin to tip it up.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” He turned to Clint 1. “Hey, I borrowed some clothes. I can give ‘em back.”

“Keep ‘em,” he waved. “I can get more.” 

“Okay. Night.”

Clint 1 nodded, giving Bucky a lazy salute as they went.

*

Naked and straddling Bucky’s bare hips, Clint braced one hand on Bucky’s shoulder and let the other one wander over the expanse of his muscle-bound physique. He was grinding against Bucky’s hard-on and felt he was doing an admirable job at keeping his volume down as Bucky fingered him open. There were three inside him and he was having a pretty good time rubbing off against Bucky’s cock and simultaneously humping his hand. Bucky had carried a short and unused but astonishingly heavy metal cabinet into their room to barricade the door, not that he had blaring trust issues (which he did) or actually thought someone would try to get inside even though the door was locked (which, yeah, he did). Clint knew how loud he could be during sex, as if doing his best impression of getting stabbed to death with cocks, and Bucky took no chances. Clint had even slapped a written note on the door that said, ‘We’re fine. Go away.’ Bucky had even mostly fixed all of the fixtures he’d ripped out while checking for surveillance devices.

“Keep going, this is fine,” Bucky coaxed with a soft moan.

“Mm-mm. Pull out, I’m ready.”

“Clint…”

“Is this a begging thing? I’ll do begging.” He cleared his throat and as loudly and shamelessly as possible, begged, “Please fuck me, Sergeant Barnes. I’ve been _so bad_. I need you to _punish me_. With your _cock._ ”

He felt Bucky’s cock twitch with interest, though he protested verbally with, “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t going for funny.” He leaned down, caught Bucky’s earlobe between his teeth and rasped, “Please, Daddy. I _want it_.”

Bucky breathed out a laugh, but Clint felt him shiver, saw his closed eyes as he tried to stay in control. They didn’t do the whole ‘Daddy’ thing seriously, but Clint pulled it out once in a while to manipulate Bucky, who was pretty fucking stubborn when he set his mind to something. He had no willpower as soon as Clint called him ‘Daddy’, though he would never, ever admit it. 

He felt Bucky’s curled fingers drag over his gland and then spread apart in revenge. Clint choked off his yell, laughing through his panting breaths. 

“You’ll be sore,” Bucky grunted, admirably fighting for logic and sense.

“Don’t care.”

“You can’t rest tomorrow.”

“Don’t care.”

He withdrew his fingers. Clint reached behind himself, steadied Bucky’s dripping wet, thickly swollen cock and started to sink down onto it. Bucky let out a hard moan and growled, fighting to be still.

Clint didn’t waste time. He loved riding Bucky, and Bucky loved to watch Clint ride him. Part of another sharp yell got free before Bucky clapped a hand over Clint’s mouth to muffle the sound. His eyes watered and he shuddered, gasping and teasing Bucky’s palm with the tip of his tongue as the iron-hard cock fed steadily deeper into his ass. 

“Shh,” Bucky hushed him. “Take it easy.”

Clint grunted his intention to disagree and barely waited for the ache to subside before he started to circle his hips. His cries were wanton, profanity-laden, and raw, so Bucky kept his hand over his mouth a while longer. Clint watched him clench and spasm in little pushes, fighting against the urge to grab him by the hips and thrust up into him, which was usually how this position went for them.

After a few minutes, the intense throbbing, fullness, friction, and gradually-swelling tingly feeling convinced him not to care about the pain. Bucky’s hand finally let go and reached for Clint’s cock instead. Clint knocked it aside.

“Don’t, I have plans for you too.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

“If you’ll let me,” Clint added.

“Let you,” Bucky chuckled. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.” 

Clint moaned, “Don’t say that, you’re killing me.” To give him some payback, he went harder, bouncing on Bucky’s dick.

Bucky gave a panting, somewhat hysterical laugh that twisted into a sexy whimper, gripping Clint’s flexing thigh hard enough to bruise. 

The metal arm had been removed, set on the table. It was one of the few times Bucky had taken it off, other than to shower. He’d even gone back to sleeping with it on since they’d arrived in 2019, which Clint thought spoke clearly to his level of comfort at the compound.

Clint clenched up tight and went even faster, his ass slapping down against Bucky as his cock pumped within Clint’s hole.

“Fuck!” Bucky cursed, urging him on with a hand on Clint’s hip, giving desperate pushes upward and shivering. He convulsed and gasped. Clint slowed down, going back to grinding on him through the aftershocks. 

“Hey, Superman,” Clint smiled, biting his lip, “I think I’ve found your kryptonite.”

“Yeah, me too,” Bucky panted. “I hope no one else ever finds out how good you are at that.”

“Well, kind of a complicated ask.”

He raised his hips, Bucky’s cock slipping out of him, dragging with it a trickle of come. Despite everything, he saw the flash of something in Bucky’s eyes that said he was holding himself back from going for round two already. His recovery abilities were just as legendary as his stamina. It was one of the main reasons Clint was rarely able to walk after a night of sex. Bucky liked seconds and thirds and fourths.

Bucky groaned. “Don’t remind me. It’s like you suddenly have a self-destructive twin brother, but worse. I hate that they’ve touched you. Used you.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it. At least we haven’t had to deal with the other you.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed fervently. “I can’t imagine.”

Clint shifted to settle between Bucky’s thighs, sliding a few feet back down the bed. He guided Bucky’s legs to bend and fold up against his torso, then dipped his head to lick Bucky’s rim. 

With a frantic whimper, Bucky threw his head back and grabbed at the metal bedframe, quickly producing an ominous creaking sound as his grip tightened. Overjoyed at his rapid success, Clint kept going, swirling his tongue, stroking with his tongue, and poking with it, though that did nothing. He couldn’t get through at all. He tried once, futilely, to get a finger in there, and stopped when he imagined the power of Bucky’s sphincter crushing the bone. What a thing to have to explain! Instead, he rubbed and asked, “Gonna need an assist down here, big guy.”

Bucky reacted quickly, reaching down and stuffing two fingers inside himself. Clint definitely didn’t hate getting to watch that.

“This is safe for me, right? You’re not gonna, like, rip it off or anything?”

“I’ll stay relaxed. You can trust me.” 

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

He watched Bucky feed a third finger in, spreading them and wincing.

He pulled them all out. “Okay, ready.”

“Wow. Behold, a new superpower is revealed.”

Bucky rolled to his side, Clint slid up behind him, fisting plenty of lube on himself. He lined up and entered Bucky. Their moans competed in volume, though Clint tried to muffle his against Bucky’s shoulder. Right away, he loved it. Bucky was soft inside like he wasn’t almost everywhere else. Bucky kept his right leg bent sharply, his right foot propped on the bed, reaching behind himself to caress Clint’s head as Clint set a steady pace, staying mostly buried with shallow thrusts.

He started sucking and biting kisses along Bucky’s neck, his right hand wrapping Bucky’s already engorged cock to stroke it.

It was so good, it left Clint grief-stricken that they’d waited so long.

Bucky rocked back into each thrust, and came quickly, his come coating Clint’s fingers.

Clint, who had much more experience at this sort of thing than the other, shifted his angle and thrust directly against Bucky’s gland. Bucky convulsed, more come spurting from his cock. He pushed back onto Clint’s cock as he kept milking him. He made a small, broken sob and Clint moaned, his climax hitting so hard the edges of his vision blacked out.

“God,” he panted against Bucky’s sweat-damp skin, “Love you like this.”

He pulled out with a thunderous groan, knowing already he was really going to pay for what he’d done, and not caring one bit. Yet.

*

After giving Clint a quick sponge bath in the bed, Bucky retreated to the shower. He brought his phone just to make sure no one had been texting to ask if they were murdering each other in there. But they seemed to be in the clear. 

He savored the scalding-hot spray while soaping up and rinsing off, and was reaching for the knob to shut off the water when his phone spoke.

“Incoming video call for Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes,” it said.

“Of course the phone speaks.” He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his hips and stepping out of the shower. “Who is it?”

“Identification withheld,” the phone told him.

“Is it a wrong number? Who the hell would be calling me?”

“Call transfer facilitated by Steve Rogers.”

“Fantastic,” Bucky said sarcastically. He picked up the phone and braced himself. “Okay, put ‘em through.”

The picture was crystal clear. Bucky almost dropped the phone.

“Hi,” his own voice said to him. “I asked Steve to talk to you.”

“What… how…”

The other Bucky shifted in his seat, the way he held himself much tenser than what Bucky was used to seeing in the mirror. He also wasn’t wearing an arm, though he was dressed at least. His hair was a little shorter, but not by much. There was some five o’clock shadow on his jaw. There was no way to tell where he was by the clean white background.

“They’ve been waking me up regularly—every month or so. They give me a report of anything that’s happened, and they ask if I want to go back under or not. They told me about you, so I chose to stay awake.” He felt the other him scrutinizing his appearance and expression. “You look good. Steve said you were happy. That you’re in love with Clint Barton.”

“God, this _is_ weird,” Bucky sighed. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say to you. How long were you in cryo in Wakanda?”

“Four years.”

“Jesus.” Bucky floundered for the right thing to say. He tried to imagine what he’d have wanted to hear. “You should stay there in Wakanda for a while. Take time to heal yourself and get your head on straight. Stay out of all of this. It’ll help more than you can imagine, trust me.” 

“Well…” The image swiveled, showing the inside of a private aircraft. “I’m just a couple hours out. I’ll be landing there soon.”

Bucky bit his tongue, pressed his lips together and felt the dread rising inside him at having to face himself—imminently.

“Why?”

“Whatever you’ve figured out… what you’ve learned in order to move on and find things to hold onto, to be happy, I want to know what they are.”

“What I’ve learned?” he echoed. “I died! I died along with half the fucking universe!”

“That’s just one part of it. I want to see you with him. Clint. I want to see what’s possible for us.”

Words failed him. He shook his head, pushed a hand back through his hair.

“What is it about him?”

Bucky glanced at the closed door. On the other side, Clint was sleeping peacefully. There was an ugly bruise on his thigh and he’d be crying for pain meds in the morning, but he’d dozed off with a faint smile on his face. Bucky couldn’t wait to go back to the bed and fold himself around him, to breathe him in while he slept.

“He understands. He’s been through so much. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel normal. He’s… a miracle.”

The silence between them drew out, with one Bucky trying to puzzle out the other. “I’m glad you’re here,” his harrowed reflection on the small screen told him. “See you in the morning.”

Bucky pressed the button on the phone to end the call. In the quiet, empty bathroom, he sighed, “Well, fuck.”

*

Clint let out a gut-deep groan of pain as he stepped away from the bed, clutching his groin and folding at the waist. “Fuck. Stop smiling like that.”

“I’m not smiling,” Bucky replied, while smiling. Clint thought he looked way too amused by the situation. 

“This is serious! I can’t walk!”

“I can see that. I did warn you.”

“Yeah,” Clint winced. “You did. But you didn’t try to stop me. What the hell am I gonna do? Can we ask them to reschedule?”

“They’re all waiting for us already,” he said, holding up his phone, messages still popping up on the screen as they debated. “They’ve been texting, asking where we are.”

“Damn it. Can I Skype the meeting or something?” 

“You think that’s less suspicious? That you’re suddenly bedridden to the point you can’t make it down a single flight of steps? I’m just going to carry you.”

Clint pointed a finger at him in warning. “Over my dead body will you carry me into a room filled with fucking Tony Stark and Steve Rogers and god knows who else.”

“You really think you can stop me?” Bucky smirked, continuing to be way too pleased with himself. “They’re doing this for us. They’re trying to get us home. You want that, right?”

“Yeah,” he sighed sadly, hands on his hips, chewing at his lip. He tried one more time, taking two limping steps. Agony flared up into his gut from his traumatized rectum and the awful bruising around his cock caused him to stumble into Bucky, shaking and gasping. If it was just one or the other, he might have been able to power through it, but as it stood, there was no way.

Without waiting another minute, Bucky swung Clint up onto his back, his arms looped through Clint’s legs as Clint hung on to his shoulders.

“They’re never gonna let me live this down,” Clint groaned.

It was a short walk to the floor below them, and over to the meeting space. Clint felt how hot his face was, knowing he was blushing furiously. 

When they entered the room, he refused to look at any of them, hearing several snickers and snorts, though he did catch a glimpse of Steve trying to hide a grin behind a hand. 

In a smooth movement, Bucky pulled out an empty chair at the end of the table and lowered him into it. Clint was able to swallow most of his grunt of pain as he landed. Bucky took a seat at his side.

The snickering continued but otherwise a weird silence drew out until Clint looked up at Tony.

“Rough night?” Tony asked.

“Shut up, Tony.” There were some bruises around Tony’s face and an ugly stitched cut on his eyebrow. “How’s your eye?”

“Well,” Tony replied, tipping back in his chair, “my tentacle monster was less fun that yours, if that’s what you mean.”

“Tony,” Steve said with disapproval.

Natasha spoke up, “Steve, I really think we’ve been underutilizing you around the office.”

“Are you seriously asking him for a piggyback ride?” Tony asked.

“No, but I’d pay good money to see him give one to you or Bruce.”

From the doorway behind him, Clint heard an oh-so-familiar voice say, “Hey, sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”

The room fell silent as Clint 1 walked in and took a seat next to Natasha. He could tell they really tried to compose themselves, but after a moment, even more wild snickering broke out. 

“Yeah, this is hilarious, can we move on?” Clint 2 said. “You people are making me seriously miss the Canadian wilderness right now.” 

Colonel Rhodes, bless him, spoke up. “Is anyone else concerned with this? Because I’m concerned.” He gestured and Clint finally saw it. The other Bucky—the original to this timeline, Bucky 1—was there. He was sitting at Steve’s side, a bizarre mirror image of his own Bucky. Both sets of doubles were present.

Bucky 1, who didn’t seem amused _at all_ , snuck furtive glances at him and his Bucky, and also at Clint 1. Rhodey asked, “Should we be trying to keep them away from each other? Protecting them from information about their other selves?”

Bruce answered with a sober, “At this point they’re each completely separate people. The timelines have branched off and the events of one timeline aren’t going to affect the other from this point onward.”

“We’re sure about that?” 

Bruce looked at Tony and Scott. “Pretty sure,” Tony told him.

“Excuse me if I’m not comforted by ‘pretty sure’,” Rhodey protested.

“Hey, it’s their call.” Tony waved to each of the four. “They’re free to go. No one’s forcing them to be here. Time and space haven’t folded in on themselves. Seems stable to me.”

“Why are you here?” Clint 2 asked both Clint 1 and Bucky 1.

“Because this affects me,” Clint 1 replied, like it was obvious. 

“I’m not you.” 

“Yes, you are.”

With a sigh, Clint 2 swung his gaze over to Bucky 1, whose tense, brooding nature was much more pronounced than in his doppelganger. They were visually harder to tell apart. His Bucky had longer hair, but that was about it, though Bucky 1 also wasn’t currently wearing a vibranium arm, the left side of his body flat and covered by his clothing.

“First good reason I’ve had to be here,” was all Bucky 1 said in explanation. Clint felt a strange mix of emotions in him when he locked eyes with the other Bucky. It felt messy and dangerous, like he was already invested in what happened to this version of the man he loved way more than he should have been, as if there was already a strong emotional tie there. He finally understood his Bucky’s instant protectiveness for the other Clint.

“Okay,” Tony declared. “Diving in. Let me start by saying how disappointed in myself I am. I can’t believe I authorized the use of this damned machine without extensive testing first, outside of simulations. As far as I’m concerned, first rule of time travel is to be damn sure you know what you’re doing before you go. In that vein, we’ve already begun testing, utilizing drones that are sent in batches through the machine and back.”

Bruce picked up the thread here, calling up a holo of the drones and a data stream that continuously shifted and added numbers. “We’ve already seen evidence that four percent of the drones don’t return when they’re supposed to. We have no idea yet why not or what happened to them, but we’re working on it. When the drones are sent in pairs, two percent of the time, the pair doesn’t travel back together to the point of origin, and one is lost.”

Scott said, “There is reason to believe though that this explains why you two didn’t return to your point of origin. At least you got here together. If there’s a four percent margin of error, it might mean the drones are being returned to other timelines, parallel realities like this one.”

“Or it may point to extenuating circumstances and just means they were destroyed upon arrival,” Tony admitted.

“We’re trying to redesign them so that future batches will be more capable of trying to return themselves here even if they do initially land in the wrong timeline,” Bruce told them.

With a sigh, fingers tented, leg crossed over his knee, Tony said, “The other part of this is that we’re trying to send some of the drones to your world, specifically. If we can verify they can reach it, bring back some evidence, we could try to communicate with them. Bottom line though, kids, is that I’m not sending you blindly through this machine, period. Not without solid, well-tested proof we know with one hundred percent accuracy where we’d be sending you, and that you had a way to get back if something went wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said gently.

Clint 2 took a deep breath, feeling lightheaded. Bucky took his hand and folded their fingers together. “You okay?” he asked.

“No, not really,” Clint 2 said, laughing through the hurt. “So we’re stuck here?”

“Just for now,” Tony told him.

“Oh my god.” He felt suffocated, sensing all of their attention on him, pitying him. He pictured his kids’ faces. Laura’s face. Panic clawed at him. 

“Hey,” Bucky said sharply, turning Clint’s chair to face him where he crouched by his side, having him focus on him and no one else. “We knew there were risks. We’re alive. We’re safe. We’re not alone. They’re going to be fine, Clint. What have we always said?”

“Life goes on,” Clint choked out.

“That’s right. It does. Whether we’re ready or not. Breathe.”

He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out.

“We can do this,” Bucky told him.

“We can do this,” Clint echoed.

“Do you trust me?”

Clint nodded.

“Do you believe me?”

Clint laughed and wiped at his eyes, the burning in his chest tightening as his sorrow flooded him. “Yeah.” 

It felt so damned final. His wife and kids—they were gone. Really gone.

Somehow, he’d never thought it would come to this.

Once Clint had it together a little more, and Bucky back into his chair, Steve spoke up. “Look, you two don’t need to be here at the compound if you don’t want that. We’ll help however we can, setting you up where you want to be. We just need to be able to get in contact with you, wherever you decide to stay. But, if you do want to stay, we’re happy to have you. There would be no expectation from us. You’d only need to pitch in if that’s what you want. So, think about it. Take your time.” 

Tony poured a glass of scotch and walked it over to Clint 2, who took the glass with a sincere, “Thanks,” before downing it and setting the glass on the table. “Thank you for, you know. Trying.” 

“There’s a solution,” Tony said. “It’s there somewhere. We’ll find it.” 

A silence fell in the crowded space.

“Well, we should get back to work. There’s a full breakfast laid out down in the kitchen if anyone wants it.” Tony said amicably. “Rogers. Give me a lift?”

“Sure, Tony.”

Without another word, Steve walked over. Tony hopped up on his back and Steve carried him out through the door.

Bruce stood as well, bowing to Natasha. “M’lady?”

“Eh, why not?” she decided, hopping onto Bruce’s back, jabbing at his thighs with her heels to make him go faster.

“What’s happening?” Clint 1 said with absolutely confused horror. 

Clint 2 felt himself smiling despite it all, especially when Bucky—without fanfare—picked him up and put him on his back again for the trek to the kitchen.

As they proceeded down the hall, following after the other two piggybacking pairs, he heard Clint 1 say with more agitation as Scott and Rhodey laughed themselves sick, “Seriously, what the fuck is happening?”

*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is the chapter that made me cry, so have your tissues ready if you're a sap like me...

_1989, Canada_

The ax fell heavily in a smooth arc, making a satisfying _thock_ sound as it split the log. It was cool out but pleasant enough. The exertion of chopping the wood had even left Clint sweaty and a little overheated under his clothes. He shrugged off his flannel and moved to heft the ax again when he saw Bucky approaching from the west. Cutting across the field from the trees, he had his head angled slightly down, eyes sharp, jaw clenched. 

“Oh no,” Clint groaned, then laughed, slightly breathless from his efforts. 

There was no smile on Bucky’s face, and he looked intent as hell. There was a subtle difference between Bucky’s ass-kicking face and the one he had now, but after seven months secluded together Clint was a veritable master of his companion’s cadre of feelings.

Clint left one hand on the ax handle, raised the other, palm out, and projected his voice louder as a drip of sweat rolled down his temple. “Hey… man. You know. Chill out. Let’s talk this through. Man-to man. Come on.” His back ached from swinging the ax, so he rolled his shoulder momentarily before resuming his grip.

There was no response from Bucky, who steadily approached with all the seriousness of a cruise missile.

Clint yanked the ax free and brought it up to rest on his shoulder. The fingers of his raised hand splayed in warning, he yelled more forcefully at the threat closing in fast, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret, here. Be reasonable!” After a beat and inner groan of dread, he added, “Last warning!”

With only moments left, mere feet separating them, Clint shifted to a defensive stance, both hands gripping tight to his weapon.

He tried. He really did. He didn’t even hold back at all this time.

But the ax hadn’t even left his shoulder when it was easily removed from his hands and thrown end-over-end at a nearby tree trunk where it buried itself cleanly, deep enough that there was no way he was yanking that thing free on his own.

“Fucking…”

Bucky hit him with his left shoulder, right in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him as he was hefted up onto said shoulder and carried off. A hand of flesh but strong as titanium held him by the thighs. Clint tried to steady himself as he hung down over Bucky’s back.

They hadn’t gone far—Clint hadn’t even gotten his breath back—when Bucky reached up and pulled down Clint’s jeans, his fingers hooked over the waistband. Clint heard the fabric tear and knew with weary resignation he’d have something to sew later. Before he could even protest, the jeans had been tossed into the tall grass, along with his boots, Clint was yelping in surprise as he was swung back over onto a thick bed of clover and heather in the field beside the cabin.

“I can explain,” he panted. Hands coming up to rub hard over his face, he indulged the momentary luxury of hiding behind them as Bucky settled down astride his hips, unmovable as concrete. His wrists were easily gathered and pinned above his head, stringing him out in only his too-small white t-shirt, pulled tight over his chest. “God, I’ve never been more glad you only have one arm,” Clint muttered under his breath.

An eyebrow cocked, and plenty of Bucky’s take-no-shit attitude scorched down in his general direction. He rarely if ever wore the metal arm those days. It was one of the few advantages Clint had. Maybe the only one.

Because many long months of this had taught the Winter Solider exactly where his opponent’s buttons were, and the most effective way to push them.

He didn’t want to rise to the bait. He didn’t want to allow such an easy victory. But he was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. So, he fought the hold, writhing, pushing upward, straining his sore shoulders and back as he pulled at the hold on his arms. With a patient expression, Bucky waited. Somehow, it was even worse that he wasn’t looking at all at Clint’s massive erection, now on full display. The logical part of Clint’s brain wanted to not enjoy it as much as he was. Mostly because of all the pride he was sacrificing. The cool clover was tickling his bare ass. Bucky leaned in, drawing in a breath as his mouth hovered over the side of Clint’s neck, his soft hair brushing the skin.

The fight in Clint eased. When it was completely gone, he rasped, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” 

“What makes you think I can’t?” He sounded riled. That was bad, because it was hot. Clint closed his eyes. The tip of a tongue traced a path over his neck and he thrust against air, his cock throbbing painfully.

In that moment, Clint thought with amusement to himself back when he feared the sex might eventually get boring or monotonous. He had wildly underestimated Bucky’s creativity. Also his love of dominance, and Clint’s own previously-buried love of submission.

Bucky’s lips moved over his own and Clint’s mouth worked, his head chasing up to catch him and failing as Bucky feigned back, watching him fight for contact, watching his raw lust. The cool morning air slipped over Clint’s exposed skin, over his sweat, making him shiver. 

“Say it,” Bucky ordered.

Clint hummed, lips curled in a combative smirk. He sank down into the awareness he suddenly had of how fucking difficult this was, how no one else in the entire universe could ever push this button of his and live to tell about it. No one. 

It wouldn’t come. Body tensed, he growled and fought, still just as trapped. He shivered again.

“Say it!”

Lips curled in a sneer, he fought one last second and then spat, “Mercy.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed darkly, he let go but slid down Clint’s body, scraping his teeth, tracing with his tongue as he went. He slid even lower. “Like you mean it,” he commanded, right before taking the head of Clint’s dripping cock into his mouth and sucking hard on it.

Clint left his arms above his head, reflexively trying to push deeper into that maddening hot, tight softness and unable to due to the hand on his hip pinning him down. After a wild, desperate cry, he let go of the rest of his precious pride. “Mercy.” 

The tip of that wicked tongue teased at his slit, drawing a rough moan. His thighs and stomach clenched, cock jumping, dripping more pre-come, he watched Bucky lick it away then plunge Clint’s full length into his mouth, then his throat, cheeks hollowed as he pulled back off again.

Lips wet and flushed dark, he slid back up for direct eye contact.

“Yeah, I deserved that,” Clint admitted. He worked to stay in the mental/emotional place Bucky wanted him, letting go of defensiveness and shame. Allowing himself to remain vulnerable. That meant not covering himself, or begging for things that they both knew wouldn’t serve his best interests.

Bucky sat back on his heels, his hand now free to stroke and caress Clint’s inner hip and upper thigh.

“I felt fine. Honest. I wanted to get outside and help.”

“And?” The backs of his fingers brushed Clint’s stomach, then his wrist pivoted and the pad of his thumb rubbed lightly up and over his stiffened nipple. It was bruised and oversensitive from what they’d done just a few hours ago. Clint frowned and grunted behind sealed lips as Bucky pinched it and twisted. His breath came out in a trembling rush through his nose. 

“I thought I’d be finished by the time you got back.”

“Good.” He felt a delirious rush of pleasure at the praise, the fingers releasing him and instead stroking too softly to tolerate. “And?” 

Writhing, somehow even harder than before, the ache in his balls growing severe, Clint said, “I like it.”

“Good. What do you like?” 

He waited until Clint was watching, then rubbed himself through his black pants, showing Clint he was hard, then reached down and slipped his fingers behind Clint’s sac to gather it up in his hand, thumb brushing there. 

Clint gave a hard shudder, eyes closed again. There was only one thing in the whole world he wanted, and he was starting to suspect he’d actually get it. He fought not to beg, but let his desperation fill his movements and expression.

Bucky rubbed more deliberately, rolling his flesh in the hand. With a gruff, pleading cry, Clint bit off the words that wanted to come and instead allowed himself to endure the touches driving him out of his fucking mind.

“B-being… being fuck-sore.” He’d been told to rest. To sleep and stay off his feet. He’s ignored the order because he liked how when he walked or moved at all, he could feel the deep ache in his rectum from Bucky fucking him. 

“Good. Better?” 

“Mm.”

“Speak.” 

“Y-yes.”

He shifted up onto his knees, releasing Clint. “Show me.”

Without hesitation, he withdrew his legs from between Bucky’s knees, rolled over and got up on his hands and knees, he pulled the t-shirt off and then lowered his shoulders, arching his back and spreading his thighs to present his hole. If there was ever an exercise in humility…

The pad of the thumb had barely brushed over his swollen rim and Clint had his hand on his cock, tugging, forehead pressed to his forearm, mouth gasping. Then he felt Bucky’s tongue instead, the gentle pressure as he licked, then kissed. Clint’s wordless begging grew louder, choked with emotion. He kept tugging himself but stopped, grabbing the earth for purchase as the wet, thick muscle pressed into him. Bucky fucked him with it a few times, then pulled away. He heard the snap of a plastic cap, then felt enormous, blunt pressure as he was entered, giving a shout that sent a few startled crows flying away into the blue sky. Bucky drew him back with a hand, making him take the full length and then held there, stuffing him full. Clint could hear Bucky’s labored breathing, the soft curses and grunts.

“You’re swollen,” Bucky protested. 

“Feels so fucking good,” Clint sighed. His hand was on his cock again, beating off as he started to bounce back onto Bucky’s erection, going shallow to start. The sound of his ass slapping against Bucky’s hips was obscenely loud in the stillness of wind and birdsong. He went gradually harder, his movements less shallow, savoring the slide of Bucky’s shaft through his sore hole, the drag of his cockhead against Clint’s prostate. His orgasm raced up on him, but Bucky curled over his back before it did, knocking his hand away and pumping him slowly as he shot, swiping a fingertip over the hot come to smear it over his slit. His ass clenched as fireworks exploded behind his eyes. Bucky was moaning, thrusting. 

“Don’t stop. Don’t go,” Clint begged, reaching behind himself to caress through Bucky’s hair, dragging his mouth to his neck to bite and suck.

Bucky dragged it out a few more minutes, until Clint’s thighs were trembling, his cries more pained. Then he let himself come deeply inside Clint, quivering lips against the back of his neck.

The thing he’d been fighting not to think about raced up on him then, and Clint sobbed. He kept his hand wrapping the back of Bucky’s head to keep him there but couldn’t stop the flood of emotion from pouring out.

“I hurt you,” Bucky whispered, horrified.

“No.”

Bucky pulled out, manhandled Clint over to his back and settled down into his arms. Clint held him close, hugging him to his chest, burying his mouth against Bucky’s hair.

“You have to talk to me.”

“If we leave here, I lose you.”

“Hey…” Bucky frowned down at him. “Says who?”

Clint spread his arms wide, then covered his face with his hands, hiccupping with his tears. “I’m fucking married. What? What am I supposed to do, huh? You think the kids won’t notice anything weird if I move you onto our property somewhere? You think Laura would be cool with me spending as much time with you as with her? I told you,” he growled. “I told you I couldn’t do casual with you, and I can’t. As soon as we leave here, that means I have to let you go, and I can’t fucking…” The unsolvable puzzle of it all spun and spun in his head, getting past his careful filters. “Either way, I lose something. I love you as much as I love her. I—”

He froze. 

The blood rushed to his face and he couldn’t breathe.

God, how embarrassing. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it, but it was the first time he’d said it. 

“Hey,” Bucky hushed, dipping his head to touch their foreheads together. He pressed a gentle kiss to Clint’s frowning lips. “I love you too.”

Clint laughed, a million pounds lifting from him at once. He gathered Bucky against him, moaning in relief.

“I love you so much, Clint. We’ll figure this out. I will not leave you, okay? I swear it. No matter what.”

“Please don’t go.”

“I won’t. I’m staying.”

“Okay.” He breathed shakily. “Okay, thank you.”

They laid there in the clover with Bucky kissing him for a long time.

*

_2020, Avengers compound_

They all sat around the table. Tony had asked them if they wanted to do this in private, but they were way past that point. In the months since they’d arrived, they’d split their time between a modest cabin on a few acres of land in upstate New York and the compound, helping with missions despite their retired status, especially since they’d found out about Clint’s hand-to-hand combat skills with the katana and ability to speak Japanese. Bucky’s training was also invaluable but Steve had stopped anyone from even bothering to ask him if he wanted to join missions, insisting that Bucky only participate when he was willing to volunteer. And here they were. Tony, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Rhodey, Scott, both Clints, both Buckys, but also Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, T’Challa via holo, Rocket via holo, and Nick Fury via holo.

Tony sat beside Scott and Bruce, the three of them presenting a united front, facing Clint 2 and Bucky 2. To add to the confusion, Clint 1 sat directly to Clint 2’s left out of the weird protectiveness he’d developed for his doppelganger. Likewise, Bucky sat next to Bucky. They’d each preserved their different hairstyles to help minimize the general confusion between who was who.

“This is a good news / bad news type of situation,” Tony started. “Good news is we were able to make contact with the timeline you two came from. We have proof it’s really them. That in their timeline Clint and Bucky left on a mission and never returned.” 

“I’m sensing the bad news,” Clint observed.

Bruce responded as an image of the branching timelines was projected above the table for everyone to see. “The drone made contact with your timeline in the year twenty twenty-five,” he explained, a glowing dot farther along the timeline’s branch glowing to indicate the progression. “We sent it with pre-recorded video and data to explain what had happened and the questions we were looking to have answered. When it returned to us, it had video messages recorded for us as well.” 

The video started playing. 

It was Hulk, glasses perched on his nose, his singed arm looking better than the last time they’d seen it.

Sitting with his elbows perched on the tabletop, hands folded and pressed against his mouth, Clint had a slight out-of-body experience as he listened to the message. It explained how under no circumstances were Bucky and Clint to attempt to return to the timeline. The risks to them were too great, given the established margin of error. Hulk told them of their relief to know both men were both okay, but that it was now their duty to make their home in the timeline in which they’d landed. Once he began to describe how well the Avengers were doing since their departure, that they even had a new Hawkeye, a new Captain America, new recruits they hadn’t met or heard of, Clint’s mind drifted, the words echoing in his head.

It took him a few minutes to realize the video had ended and they were all looking at him.

“What?”

“I said, there’s a second video. From, uh, from Laura,” Tony told him. “We can clear the room so you can watch it privately—”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yeah.”

He scrutinized Tony’s expression, which he was able to read much more clearly than he ever had the Tony from his own timeline. 

“Play it.” 

“Clint—”

“I said, play it!”

The image came up, showing her sitting at a desk, the same office background that had been behind Hulk. She had her hands folded in front of her and she kept looking between them and the camera.

“God, this is hard. Um,” she started. “Hi, honey. I can’t tell you how glad I am to know where you are and that you’re safe and happy there. We always wondered, or… I always wondered, if you were okay, or… And I finally understood a little, what you must have gone through, when Thanos….” She cleared her throat, looked right at the camera. She seemed nervous, but composed. Her eyes were dry, but she was shaky. “I don’t know how to say this, or if I should apologize, so I’m just going to try my best, okay? And hope you’ll forgive me. Hope this helps you more than it hurts. Um…” She held up her trembling hand, showing the glistening rings on her finger. “I’m remarried. His name is Quentin, and he has two boys of his own, older than ours. They’ve been a huge help on the farm. Get along so well with the kids, you wouldn’t believe it, and…” She blinked, wiped her eyes. “I swear, Clint, I talk about you all the time, keep your pictures up and show them video of you, but it’s… it’s been six years and the kids were pretty small when you left. I think everything with the snap might have affected things too, but… They don’t remember much, from before. I know they love you. They will _always_ love their dad, but… They’re doing really well. They’re happy. They’re excelling at school and planning their futures and you don’t have to worry about them, okay? Quentin’s already adopted them, legally. Scott and Hulk and everyone, they’ve explained to me that you can’t return here, and I _know_ how you must feel about that, because I know you, Clinton Francis, like the back of my hand, and that’s why I’m telling you all of this, okay? It’s not to hurt you. It’s to help you move on and really, _really_ believe that you are allowed to let us go and be happy. I just want you to be happy, okay? I love you. I know I’ll see you again, somehow, or someday.” 

The silence drew out after the video ended. He was only dimly aware of the room clearing and the holos shutting off.

There were only four of them left. Two nearly identical pairs. 

None of it was surprising, really. He’d seen it all coming.

And yet.

Clint wasn’t sure how they’d gotten to the point they were at, or if he even wanted it to change. It had only been a few months, but already he couldn’t imagine not having his other self there as a support system. To have had to process the news alone, without Clint 1’s existence to help him understand and manage his reaction would have been exponentially harder. Maybe it wasn’t healthy. Maybe he was becoming weirdly co-dependent to yet another person. Or maybe he was just learning how to open up and trust again, rather than taking the whole load on himself in self-destructive ways.

He wasn’t sure Bucky felt the same way. He knew the presence of the other Bucky had been unsettling and uncomfortable to start with. His Bucky had worked to mostly avoid the other one, but his own natural persistence had won out in the end. Clint thought the fact that Bucky now had someone who understood every single thing he’d ever endured, and commiserated and cared, was a big part of his walls coming down. Clint also thought compassion kicked in because of how Bucky 1 was just trying to learn how to improve himself, and Bucky 2 couldn’t rationalize denying him that. He just didn’t like being crowded. 

It was complicated, and it wasn’t at the same time. None of the other Avengers pretended to understand, though after the message from Hulk, maybe Bruce would have an inkling.

The Buckys sat wearing almost identical expressions of stoic contemplation, maintaining steady eye contact with each other like they were using telepathy. Maybe they were. Clint didn’t need to read anyone’s mind to know what they were feeling.

Relief.

Grief.

Helplessness.

Guilt.

But mostly relief. They had done everything they could. It was very much out of their hands now. There was nothing else to do. They didn’t need to cling to that particular hope. They didn’t have to leave Steve, Natasha, or Tony again. They didn’t have to leave themselves. 

And yet.

Clint would never see his family again. Even knowing they were okay, he was right back to where the snap had taken him—without those he loved most, and no way to get them back.

But now Clint would also never have to choose between Laura and Bucky. The choice had been made for him.

Clint still sat with his hands folded in front of his mouth, elbows on the desk. Bucky 2 sat forward, focusing on him, maybe wanting to reach out but Clint didn’t want to be touched yet. Bucky 1 was glancing with concern between him and Bucky 2 the longer the silence drew out. Clint 1 was only looking at Clint 2, his chair turned and expression intensely focused.

There were too many parts, too many directions in which Clint was being pulled. He wasn’t surprised, but it hurt like he was. Like he hadn’t seen it coming. They were all worried about him but he just wanted to be left alone. He didn’t have anything left in him to reassure them he was okay.

He wasn’t okay.

“What do you need?” Bucky 2 asked.

Clint held up a hand, throat constricted, no words to say.

“Should we go?” Bucky 1 asked. Clint 1 gave him a sharp shake of the head in reply. Bucky 1 fidgeted in his chair, then got up and went to the wet bar, pouring a glass of scotch and walking it to Clint 2, setting it down in front of him. He took it downed the whole thing. 

“Thanks.”

He liked having them around him, surrounding him. He was glad he didn’t have to ask for it out loud. 

“Whatever you need,” Bucky 2 said in a whisper. 

Staring out the window at the bright blue sky, Clint said, “I need you to let me keep the hope.”

“Okay.”

Tony, Bruce, and Scott had maintained all along, since they’d arrived, that the technology just wasn’t there yet. The margin of error was inescapable. Maybe someday, with alien technology or the help of magic or… something… the possibilities would change. Clint had to believe it. He had to hold on to that chance. 

From his right, he heard a sharp, “Hey. Look at me. Come on.”

He didn’t want to, but he did. Clearing his throat, he swiveled the chair to face Clint. Clint 1 had none of his pain showing, only strength, anger, determination. Easy for him—he hadn’t lost anything. “It’s time. What we talked about? It’s time,” Clint told him.

For the briefest second, he imagined it, and it broke him. Like a spear had driven through his chest, he gasped and tried to bear down on the pain, squeezing his eyes shut, grinding his teeth. His eyes burned and his exhale when it came was shaking.

“No. We can’t. I can’t ask—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t ask. It’s been months and you haven’t ever asked. I’m telling you, it’s time.”

“She’d kill you.”

“I’ll deal with that.”

“It’s not fair to her.”

“She’ll get over it. Tell me she won’t. Let me give you this one thing. Please.” 

“The kids’ll be confused.”

“They’re five years older than yours. They’ll understand when we explain.”

“I can’t,” Clint begged, voice breaking apart, wiping at the stupid tears on his face. 

“Would you look at who you’re fucking talking to right now?” Clint snapped. “It’s better with this than without it. Don’t you dare try to bullshit me.”

“Hey,” Bucky 2 cut in, sounding upset. 

“Back off!” Clint 1 told him. Talking only to Clint 2, he said, “You’re a mess, so I’m in charge right now. I’ve decided. We’re going right now.”

“What are they talking about?” Bucky 1 asked himself. Bucky 2 shook his head, confused.

“Okay?” Clint 1 asked Clint 2, his voice still sharp. He had none of the broken parts. It set them apart clearly.

“Okay,” Clint 2 relented.

“C’mere.” He stood and pulled Clint 2 to his feet, then hugged him. It felt super weird to hug himself but something loosened in his chest. It loosened even more when Bucky 1 came over and wrapped them both in a hug. Clint 2 actually laughed when he felt Bucky 1 kiss the top of his head, and then the top of Clint 1’s head. 

When they both let him go, Clint 2 turned to his Bucky, who wore a slight, crooked smile. Clint walked up to him and gave him a slow, light kiss, one hand to the side of his face. “You really are stuck with me now.” 

“I love you,” Bucky told him tenderly. With a groan, Clint embraced him, breathing against the side of his neck. “We can do this. It’s gonna be okay.”

*

They went to get ready in Clint 1’s room. When it was just the two of them, Clint 2 spoke up, “Hey. Question, since I’m about to make a fool of myself in front of you, I figure this is my best chance to ask and be forgiven for the curiosity. Has anything happened between you and Bucky 1 since we got here?”

Clint 1 groaned, averting his gaze.

“Damn, I really expected a no.”

“It’s not—” Clint 1 started, then cut off whatever he was going to say. “Okay. First of all, I’ve been adamantly against that from happening. Adamantly,” he pressed, a single finger raised and guilt all over his face.

“I can guess why,” Clint 2 almost smiled. “But…? I sense a but.” 

“Fuck off,” Clint 1 sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, second of all, we,” he gestured at both of them, “make _terrible_ choices.” 

“Oh, I’m right with ya there,” Clint agreed, folding his arms, widening his stance to help brace himself for whatever was coming, because it felt like it was going to be a doozy. “Third of all?” he prompted. 

Clint 1 sighed again, his expression pained. “So, Steve and Bucky have been spending lots of time together. Which means little to no time for Tony and Steve. Far as I know, Tony’s fine with it. They’re not exclusive. Neither are Steve and Bucky, but being apart so long, they’ve been in their own bubble.”

“Mm-hmm,” Clint 2 hums, keeping to himself what he knows about Steve and Bucky’s romantic and sexual history.

“Which leaves Tony hard up, and me… you know. Available.”

Clint 2 can’t get past his own history with his own Tony. Can’t imagine what they had ever blooming into a full affair. “Can I… just… why? Why did you even hook up with Tony after the thing with the knife and the…” he waved a hand to encompass the rest. 

Clint 1 has to sit down and doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. “It’s complicated. I was in a dark place and I knew Tony was amazing in bed, from reputation alone. And it’s true. He is.”

“But he was with Steve?”

“Yeah. Him and Steve were already thing then, so Steve found out I’d slept with him and was upset at Tony, especially when he found out how hardcore it got. He was worried about me. I see that look, don’t ask.” He warned before continuing. “So Steve insisted on being there next time.” 

“And that’s how the threesomes happened?” 

“It only happened a couple of times, months went by between each one. I went looking for it when I needed to get it out of my system. It’s so hard to hook up with people anymore on Grindr or whatever. They recognize me. It’s just easier when you have an established, casual thing you can go back to. But, you know Steve. He’d make sure I was okay, get me water, make sure Tony was using enough lube.” Clint 2 laughed then groaned, because that was too real. “First time, Steve barely touched me. Later…” 

Clint 2 gestured when he didn’t continue. “Well?”

“I don’t want to tell you this.”

“Tough shit. What, is he a beast?”

“Have you ever seen Steve naked?”

Clint 2 burst out laughing. “Um, no. That’s a no.”

“He’s _spectacular_ ,” Clint 1 said heavily. “But he flat out refused to fuck me because he was worried about hurting me. I don’t know, I guess Tony’s more persuasive or they work something else out there. No idea. So I…” an excruciating sigh, “I rode him. And it was fucking wonderful. I got over the embarrassment of it all real fast, especially with Tony egging me on and everything. Like I said, persuasive with his voice, fingers, tongue, etc.”

“Wow. That’s… um. That explains some of the looks I get from them. Also, Bucky is gonna be _pissed_.”

“Why?”

“He likes his privacy. Doesn’t like to share. Especially sharing me with Tony. You get it. It’s weird and complicated.”

“Yeah.”

“And where does your Bucky come into this?”

“He kind of walked in on me getting fucked.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You really want details?”

“Um, yes. Yes, I think I need them. Just for the sake of being able to make eye contact with them in the future.”

Clint 1 stood again, sighing and pacing. “I was with Tony. It was late. He had me over the edge of a counter in his penthouse when Steve called. And of course, Tony being Tony, he answered, said he was kinda busy. I don’t know if he heard me or what—you know how loud I am—it was like a minute later Steve was walking in. Bucky was with him. Tony was pounding me from behind. Steve started to question Tony right away, all ‘are you being careful’ nonsense and Tony told him to shut up. I felt Bucky hanging back but watching. I didn’t hate it. By the time I came, Bucky and Steve were making out. The four of us wound up in the bedroom.” 

“Goddammit, Clint.”

“What? I was delirious, and I wasn’t exactly gonna say no to that. Bucky had Steve over the side of the bed. Watching them fuck was…” he whistled. “I was touching myself. Tony got me on my hands and knees and started to give it to me again. They were all watching it. But I felt Bucky watching me in a way that the others were not. It was intense as hell.

“Tony finished and I collapsed on the bed, feeling like the room was spinning. And then…”

“What?”

Clint gestured openly with his hands in a surrendering way. “He crawled on top of me. Bucky. His lips were so soft. My hands were in his hair and his tongue was in my mouth. I didn’t even want to stop to breathe, like I’d lost my fucking mind, like I was starved for him. I can’t even explain it really. Kissing him was… upsetting. It was like I was drowning in him. He pulled away and it was all I could do to get my breath back and then he… He’d gotten the condom on without me feeling it, so when my dick was suddenly in his mouth, I—like I said, upsetting. I was making these embarrassing noises. Loud whimpering. I don’t even know. My hands were in his hair again and I was grinding on his mouth. He is fucking spectacular at sucking cock.”

“Oh, I know.”

“That thing he does with his tongue? What even is that?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“Then he was fingering me and I was grinding on his hand too and it was… it was so good. But I think they were concerned about me. Steve laid down beside me, propped up and was trying to calm me down. He was smoothing my hair and kissing me really gently. I’m pretty sure I was crying. He would have kept going. I begged him to stop after I came. He really wanted to get inside me and I really wanted him to be there. But I told him I couldn’t. It was too complicated. Steve just held me for a while until I fell asleep.”

“Jesus, Clint.”

“Yeah.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago.”

“Please tell me that was the only time.”

“God, I wish.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“You are not one to talk when it comes to resisting Bucky.”

“You have better reasons to resist him!” 

“I know! I know that!” 

“What happened?”

“It was late. He’d just gotten back with Steve from that mission in DC with Fury, and I was worried about you. And him. He had gunshot holes in his uniform and it freaked me out. No one else was there and he hugged me, told me everything was okay. Then I was up against the wall and he was kissing me again, but I couldn’t just kiss him. I was so hard. He pinned my arms above my head, got his knee between my thighs and he just watched me grind on his hip as he kissed me. It felt different that time, with just the two of us. When he watched me come, it felt like I couldn’t take it back. Scared me a little. Because I know he wants to, and I know I want to, but it’s such a bad idea. We can’t. He has Steve. I have Laura. We can’t.” They looked at each other. “That face you’re making is not reassuring.”

“What do you want me to say? I always fantasized about Bucky. I told him I knew I couldn’t do casual with him. Neither can you. And you have to.” 

“I know.”

“Maybe you need to get it out of your system. It’s just sex.”

“No, it’s not. Not with the way he looks at me and touches me. Like he already has feelings. I can’t.” 

“Then don’t.”

“He has Steve,” Clint 1 told himself, like that solved everything. “They’re perfect together. It’s just a phase.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Clint grunted in what he hoped was a convincing way. “Do you have feelings for him?”

“What? No. No. He’s just this impossible combination of the best parts of Tony with the best parts of Steve. Like he has the dark and dirty and the strong, good guy thing at the same time and it’s really tempting.” 

“Mm,” Clint 2 grunted, more worried by the second. Clint 1, meanwhile looked more nervous by the second.

“You need to go on another mission with the Guardians or something.”

“Tell me about it.” He waited a beat, then said, “Maybe…” 

“What?”

“Maybe we’re not meant to be. Maybe it’s just seeing the two of you all the time. Gets in our heads.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

*

Clint pulled the brim of the cap down lower, tugged the collar of his jacket higher and took a deep, quivering breath. His hands were shaking too. He hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable. Heart pounding, knees weak, he walked slowly up the driveway towards the house.

Laura was sitting on the front porch holding a glass of what looked like lemonade. He heard the kids yelling and playing around back. Their voices were deeper than he remembered. 

The flare of anguish was nearly crippling. He locked his knees before he could collapse onto the dirt and told himself to get it together. This was his one and only chance.

He sniffed and bit down hard on his tongue, pushing the tears way, way back. After another deep, shuddering breath, he kept going.

“Hey,” Laura called, setting down her glass, “You’re back early.”

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice hoarse. He forced more levity into it, but the emotion stayed, keeping it thick. “Just missed you, I guess.”

“Oh, honey,” she _tsked_ , coming down the steps.

He quickened his stride and scooped her up in his arms with a hard moan. He smelled her hair, her skin, felt the perfect shape of her against him, and let out a desperate, broken sound. 

“Clint, what’s wrong?” she asked, worried. She tried to pull back and get a better look at him, but he held her there desperately, knowing those seconds were all he had to still feel like she was his again. 

But he was sobbing, shaking, and scaring her.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, his lips pressing to her soft hair. “I’m so sorry, Laura. I love you so much.”

Her arms squeezed tighter around him, her hand stroking his back. “I love you too. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I’ll explain,” he said, not letting go, “Just hold me for another minute first, please?”

“Of course,” she sighed, “Of course I will.”

He didn’t know how long they stood there like that. He just knew it was longer by far than she expected, but far shorter than he needed.

It was the kids that broke the spell, running around the house, chasing each other.

“Dad’s home!” one of them cried. Clint’s heart lodged in his throat and he felt he might drop, so he set his wife reluctantly down and turned to them instead, arms wide. They ran at him, just like they always did in his dreams, and he gathered them all up at once, kissing their cheeks, hugging them close, strangling on the sobs he refused to let out for fear of scaring them as well. But they felt him shaking, saw his tears. 

“Why are you crying? Dad, what’s wrong?” 

The youngest pulled the hat off his head, and everyone froze. 

They stepped back from him. Clint crouched there, hands covering his face, shattering into a million pieces all over again, expecting to be blown away like ash just like he’d seen them do all those years ago. 

Softly, Laura said, “It’s you.”

Clint’s voice spoke up from a few feet away, “It’s okay, kids. It’s me. Just… a different me. Remember what we talked about together, about the other world?” 

Clint 2 felt small hands peel his fingers from his face, looked down into his eyes. His daughter. God, she’d gotten big. “Daddy?” she asked, tentatively.

“Yeah,” he gasped, smiling, more tears falling. “Yeah, it’s me. I lost you, baby girl, a long time ago, and I just missed you so much. I know this isn’t fair to you. It’s selfish of me, but I will always love you, and your brothers, and your mom, no matter where or when I am, on every world there is.” 

He glanced up at Laura, who was crying now, too, her hand over her mouth.

He stood. His daughter stepped into his arms and let him hug her again. He let out a heavy sigh and felt a weight drop from his shoulders for good. Something like forgiveness eased the bitter chill around his heart. 

They all went inside. Their Clint explained some more, so Clint 2 wouldn’t have to. They all stared at him, his tattoos, his mohawk, his face. Laura gave him something to drink, made sure he stayed sitting until his legs were steadier. When she hugged him again, it was different. She wasn’t his anymore.

But the loss helped anchor him to his new reality. He knew his Laura was out there somewhere too, happy, and aware he was okay. It was enough. It had to be.

Before he left to go find Bucky in the truck parked down on the main road, Laura stopped him, pulled him aside, and asked, “You’re staying?” 

“Yeah,” he told her. “I’m staying. This world is my home now. Just got the final word today. That’s why Clint let me do this and I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” she cut in. “Don’t apologize.” She looked upset for him, worried for him. She kept holding his arms like she was trying to anchor him there. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help. I don’t blame you. You didn’t get to say your goodbyes, and that’s never been fair to you, Clint. I get that.”

He blew out a breath, averted his eyes and prayed to not start crying again.

“Look,” she continued, “You’re still their dad. They’re getting older every day. Clint—my Clint—can’t be here as often as he’d like, but if you’re around… maybe you can be here sometimes too. To help on the farm, or spend time with them.”

“I can’t ask that of you, or them. I—” 

“You didn’t ask. I offered.” 

He glanced over at himself in the other room, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and speaking softly to his three kids. His sons kept looking over where he stood with Laura, watching carefully. 

He didn’t know what he was to them, or what he could be, but the chance to be the smallest part in their life was better than nothing at all.

“Please say you will,” Laura asked. “Stop trying to do everything on your own. Please.” A pause. “Clint, look at me.”

He did. He fell right into her brown eyes. She touched the side of his face. “You’re doing the best you can. This isn’t your fault. None of this was your fault. Nod your head or something, come on.” 

He breathed out a laugh and nodded, loving her so much. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re not alone, right? You have Bucky?”

He dropped his gaze. “Yeah. Yeah, I have Bucky. He makes sure I keep it together. He’d… he’d do anything for me.”

“He loves you?” 

He thought of the other Bucky, the other Clint, and felt a small pain he tried not to shown, fear he didn’t want to feel. “Yeah. He loves me. He saved me. I owe him everything.”

“Good.” She breathed, smiled a bit. “Life keeps happening to all of us. There’s no way to stop it. We can only do our best and keep going. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Is it?”

“I think so, yeah. Don’t you?”

He looked around at them all, locked eyes with himself, both of them smiling, and let the rest of what he’d been carrying around since the snap drop. It wasn’t his burden anymore. It was done. It was okay. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so too.”

*


	7. Chapter 7

_1989, Canada_

The break in the weather convinced them to make one last trek into the nearest town for fresh produce and supplies to help wait out the coming winter. It was going to be quite a hike, and camping out in the cold without proper gear wasn’t fun, but the way it dispelled some accumulating cabin fever made it worth it.

They weren’t even halfway there when they saw the car.

It was a blue sedan, crashed head-on into the trunk of a dead tree. Smoke poured from the crumpled front-end. The woman’s form was draped over the steering wheel. She was moving.

Bucky saw her first.

“Stay here,” he ordered, “I’ll check it out.”

“No, I’m not _staying here_ ,” Clint argued. “I’m an Avenger, goddammit. Or I was, anyway.” He scoffed. “‘Stay here’ he says.”

They approached the car. The front two windows were either down or busted. Clint called, “Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear us? Are you injured? Can you speak?”

“Help,” she cried, weakly. “Please help me!” She lifted her head and looked around at them. Blood ran down the sides of her face, a small cut on her forehead visible. She looked pale.

Bucky circled the car, evaluating the damage, maybe, or coming up with a plan, given how many miles they were from town, the absence of cell phones or other cars, and all of the rest of it. Clint approached the woman, her hands still gripped white-knuckle-tight to the steering wheel.

“Ma’am, I think you may have a concussion. Are you feeling pain anywhere else?”

She coughed, a deep, chest-rattling sound. Clint touched her forehead and felt the heat baking from her. Her eyes rolled loosely in the sockets.

“She’s sick, Buck,” he called. “That must be why she crashed.” To her, he said, “Ma’am, we’ll get you out of here, get you some help, okay? Does anyone else know you’re out here?” 

She tried to speak and coughed again, seemed unable to stop. Then a spray of blood came out to coat the wheel in front of her, coating her lips, too.

“How are we supposed to do this?” Clint asked. “God, I miss cell phones. If she’s sick, she’s not gonna love being carried ten miles. Maybe we can strap her to a something, like an improvised stretcher? Um…” 

“Clint.”

“There’s some small trees over there,” he said, thinking. “Maybe we could cut some limbs down or—”

“Clint,” Bucky said more forcefully. “We can’t interfere. We shouldn’t be doing anything to affect the timeline. There should be no one out here to give her aid. If we do something to change this, we’re causing a disruption. Hulk and Scott warned us about this.”

“We can’t just leave her here!”

“This is bigger than the fate of one person. This is about not changing the timeline in a way that screws over everyone else.”

“But we screwed with things already when we took the infinity stones! When Steve went back and stayed with Peggy. We’re past that now. We can’t leave someone to die. _I_ can’t.”

“So you’re saying I can?”

“They said…” he struggled to remember. It was so long ago. “The whole Back to the Future space-time continuum thing was bullshit, though. Theoretically.”

“Thanos already fucked over our world once. You’re really going to trust Bruce’s theories to not fuck it up all over again? We need to play it safe.”

“By letting a woman die?”

“Clint.”

“What?!”

Bucky gently pushed the woman back from the steering wheel. Her eyes were shut. There was no response when Bucky touched her. There was a jagged piece of metal sticking out of her lower abdomen, from where the front end of the car had crumpled into her. Blood had gushed down her legs.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Clint kicked one of the tires. 

“Hey…” Bucky touched his shoulder. Clint shrugged him off, too angry for comfort. He hung back while Clint worked off some steam by beating the hell out of the car. After a while, once he was calmer again, Bucky asked, “Should we go back? Call it off?”

“No. No, we’re out here anyway. Let’s just do this.”

“You sure?”

Clint blew out a breath. “We’re really gonna just leave her here like this?”

“We don’t know where she came from. Where her family is. They patrol this stretch of road. They’ll find her.”

Bucky clasped the side of his face, looked deep into his eyes. “Okay?”

“Fine. Fine. Okay.”

*

By the time they were back at the cabin, Clint’s fever was at one hundred and one and climbing. He was congested, short of breath. He got worse every day. The more time that passed, the less Bucky had a solid hold on anything. Clint had stopped eating. When Bucky tried forcing him to eat soup, Clint threw it up. He was losing too much weight, getting dehydrated no matter how much water Bucky fed him. His fever was too high, the wet cough had become a dry one that forbade any deep breaths.

Now, the blizzard’s winds were whistling, hail and snow blowing in drifts against the cabin’s exterior walls, whiting out the view from the windows. Their suits lay on the floorboards beside the bed, ready to go. Whenever Clint had been conscious, they’d been fighting—whether to go or wait. How many times had Bucky just said fuck it, we’re going, getting Clint into the suit only to imagine the trip back going wrong, losing him completely.

The fear held him back.

Clint’s words haunted him, from many months ago.

_Bet you wish you didn’t care._

He cradled him in his arms, praying for each shallow, wheezing breath. His eyes hadn’t opened all day, no matter how much Bucky screamed. He’d held him in the shower, letting the cool water try to combat the fever’s heat. Now, their hair dripping, Clint shivering in his arms, wrapped in blankets, unresponsive, his pulse weak.

_Bet you wish you didn’t care._

He imagined losing him. Making the trip back alone, or with a body wrapped in sheets, and fought back vomit, fought back screams.

He couldn’t cry anymore. Was too broken to yell.

He just pressed his lips to Clint’s temple and prayed, “Please. Please. Please." 

If they got through this, somehow, Bucky would never leave him. Ever. He swore it to all the gods. He’d do anything, go anywhere, endure any kind of hell as long as Clint lived. As long as he didn’t lose him. He would be the force that kept Clint going, that kept him from harm. It was the only mission he had left.

The only one that mattered.

*

_2019, Avengers Compound_

After everything, the trip had been rather anticlimactic. Sure, Hulk had been so shocked, he’d knocked a whole table full of equipment onto the floor and had stopped speaking completely for ten solid minutes. He didn’t even really blink. 

“I’m gonna sit and wait this out,” Clint told Bucky, drawing up a chair. He cracked his aching back and groaned as he lowered into the seat.

“Got all the time in the world,” Bucky quipped. 

“Yeah, speak for yourself.”

Eventually, Hulk got it together enough to form words again. “How long has it been? You, know, for you.”

“Too damn long.” 

Clint endured the staring. His hair had gone completely silver. He wore glasses now. There were plenty of lines on his face to explain how long it had been. Bucky was aging slightly more gracefully, but aging all the same, his white hair tied back at the nape of his neck. 

“Look, we’ve got things to do,” Clint began, “But there are a few things you need to know. You wanna record this or write it down or something?” 

“Not everyone’s mind is a sieve, you know,” Bucky countered.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Hulk pulled out a tablet, held the camera up to face them and said, “Okay, go.”

“Well, first of all,” he began, “You’re gonna need to send us—younger us—out on a mission to Canada.”

“Canada?”

“Yeah, we’ve got the coordinates for you. We’re going to set up a fake S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house way out in the middle of nowhere, pay for the electric bills and all of that, get it stocked with supplies, but your job is to send us out there with a beacon to deploy. Make sure we go together, alone. Mention the safe house as a ‘just in case’ thing, but tell us to expect a thirty-second turnaround for the mission itself.”

“But… why?” 

“You’ll find out eventually,” Clint smiled.

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s somewhere we need to go. And we won’t be able to get there unless we go to this place in Canada first.” 

“This is the way it has to be,” Bucky explained, gently. “The way it has to go. It happened this way for us, and Dr. Strange gave us a heads-up, explained to us we caused it, so that’s what we’re here to do. Set the dominos up in a line so they can get knocked down.” 

“You can’t tell us we were here. You can’t tell anyone, at least not until after we’re gone. Got it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, got it.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” Bucky told Hulk. “It might not feel that way, not for a long time, but we’ve had a happy life. We wind up in a good place. We’ve had years to go over the what-ifs, and the theories, and the science. What it comes down to is this: this is the way our fate plays out. We can’t change that. Neither can you. Not that we’d even want you to try. We want this.”

“I still don’t understand. Where do you go? Where did you come from? Does something go wrong on the mission? On the trip?”

Clint pulled a device out of the pack strapped to his back. He gave it to Bucky to hand to Hulk.

“Tony’ll explain. He recorded everything you’ll want to look through on there. Don’t look at it until after we leave on the mission you give us. Promise us.”

“But—”

“Promise.” 

Hulk sighed. “Yeah, okay. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, um,” Bucky pointed in the direction of the residential suites, “Is Steve, um…?”

“He’s in his room. He’s not doing well… but I guess you know that.”

Bucky nodded, then looked to Clint.

“Go on,” Clint told him. “I’ll wait here.”

After one last look at Hulk, then at Clint, Bucky gave a solemn nod and left.

*

“Hey, old man,” Bucky said, pulling up a chair next to the hospital bed. There were all sorts of machines hooked up to Steve, and a team of doctors waiting in the wings, but there was no fighting time. Not anymore.

Steve blinked slowly, frowning in confusion, “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” he smiled.

“You’re so fucking old!”

Bucky laughed. “Not as old as you! You’ve got a few decades on me, yet.”

Steve shifted on the bed, trying to get a clearer look at him. “What’s happened to you? I just saw you and you were fine. Young. Healthy.”

“Don’t mind that. It’s not important.” He took Steve’s hand in his own, caressing the fragile skin. 

“Bucky, I’ve been meaning to tell you… talk to you… I’m so sorry for leaving you like that. It felt like tearing my heart in half but when I went back and saw her, it was just too hard to leave again. I didn’t plan it. I swear to you.”

“I know. I know, Steve,” Bucky said tenderly, blinking his eyes clear as they watered. He cleared his throat. “I’ve gotta ask you one last favor, okay? Can you do that for me? I don’t think I can really explain, so you’ll have to trust me on it. Maybe that’s not fair, but…”

“No, I’ll do it. I owe you. I’ve felt so guilty for so long. Whatever you need, just name it.”

“You mean it?”

“I do.”

“Then promise me you won’t apologize again. At all. Promise me that.” 

He reacted like the air was knocked out of him with a gut-punch. “Bucky…”

“Steve, I’m serious about this.”

“Why? Why would you…”

“Because, there’s someone I love very much, and in order to be there for him, I need to be angry with you for just a little while. I need a reason not to fall apart when I don’t have you anymore. You can give me that reason. I’ll,” he looked down, just for a moment, as he was confronted with all of Steve’s hurt and pain. The regret and love in his eyes was everything Bucky had longed for, for as long as he could remember. Its absence had haunted him, and now, knowing he was the one to deprive himself of it, the rest of the pieces fell perfectly into place. “I’ll leave it up to you. It’s your call. But you got to live your life with the one you love. I’m asking you to give me the same chance.”

There was a long silence. Then Steve nodded.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you sit with me? Just for a little while? Maybe tell me about this guy you’re crazy about?”

“Yeah,” Bucky smiled, a pair of tears spilling down his cheeks before he could wipe them away. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

*

Clint walked up the long driveway toward the old house. Laura was unloading groceries from the car. Somewhere nearby, the kids were playing and laughing, their voices carried softly on the wind. He pulled the brim of the cap lower, letting it hide his silver hair and weathered face. He watched her, knowing just what to say, and all of the good things waiting for her in the years to come. 

He smiled to himself and closed the distance between them, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I wrote this mainly for my own peace of mind, and my love for these characters, but I hope you enjoyed it as well <3
> 
> EDIT: I do already have some scattered scenes in my head I'd love to write for a sequel, to deal with other facets of their story that have less to do with getting home and more about life in the alt timeline (plus the complications of the doppelganger situation). If you guys would be into it, let me know! I'll see what I can do <3


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